


clandestine meetings and stolen stares

by eg1701



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, Curtain Fic, Dialogue Heavy, Emotional Affair, Eventual Happy Ending, Friends With Benefits, Gen, Infidelity, Internal Monologue, I’m sorry Taylor Swift, Light Angst, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pre-Relationship, References to Jane Austen, Suicide mention, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, a disgusting amount of softness, i should be denied internet access, if you saw this no you didn't, it's them, minor homophobia, more fluff than tom or greg know what to do with, mostly canon compliant but not entirely, that should be a tag, they're all unhealthy, they're like that in this too, y'all know how tom and greg are, you know why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 45,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26202391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eg1701/pseuds/eg1701
Summary: Greg is pretty sure he's involved in an emotional affair and he's pretty sure he doesn't care.Or, Tom and Greg told through Taylor Swift songs.
Relationships: Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans
Comments: 255
Kudos: 169





	1. it's nice to have a friend

**Author's Note:**

> look....this was inevitable. they're so weird and i love them so much.
> 
> title is from taylor swift's "illicit affairs" idk when tumblr decided taylor swift was tomgreg's personal musician but here were are
> 
> i'm begging y'all to listen to this galaxy brain level playlist on spotify [ here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1UVbyxmQ0XOSi0VCkTablA?si=H_0fwvXDQZCFdMz7F173ng) i'm not the genius curator of this playlist (if this is yours i need you to know that you are amazing and i want to be your friend please let me know) but i listen to it all the time. they are, how you say, spectacular.

Greg was pretty sure he and Tom were technically having an affair. 

Technically there wasn’t anything affair-like, in their relationship, but on his lunch break one afternoon he had sat at his desk and googled “emotional affairs,” skimmed the top three results, and then deleted his search history just in case the people that worked at IT were interested in what he googled on the company’s wifi. He didn’t like how much the website’s information seemed to ring true. 

Greg had never _had_ an affair before. 

(Although, it was really Tom that was having the affair. Tom was still married after all. Any further attempts on Greg’s part to voice his thought’s that Shiv had been less than faithful had been shut down by increasingly violent threats from Tom.)

But he knew you were probably supposed to feel, like, ashamed or something. Tom was his cousin in law, really, though he’d never been that close to the Roy siblings, Tom was his boss and Tom was also _married._

The thing was though, the kicker, the selling point, Greg didn’t mind. Tom was an asshole, that was true, and Greg had had bruises for several days after the panic room incident, as he had taken to calling it, but Tom was his best friend. 

And why _had_ Tom protected him in Hungary? That was risking a lot, Greg knew. He shouldn’t have even said anything, but Tom could have easily used that information to have Greg’s entire world thrown off a fucking skyscraper. He could have royally fucked him over, but instead he’d shut his mouth, through all of it, the boar, and the sausages, and the oinking.  


(If Greg thought about it, which he didn’t like to do, he wondered if he’d have done the same thing, in Tom’s shoes. He thought he probably would have and he really didn’t know what the everloving _fuck_ that meant.)

Something had happened between Tom and Shiv. He would have been able to tell anyway, because Tom was more manic when things were bad, but they’d been distant, ever since the yacht. Greg had tried to press but Tom had told him to “shut the absolute fuck up Cousin Greg or I swear to God you’ll regret it” and Greg had proceeded to drop the subject.

But then Tom had shown up unannounced at his apartment the next night, ordered a pizza and sat silently on his sofa while Greg awkwardly watched the TV, occasionally bringing up topics he’d deemed safe, like the weather, or the new woman that worked at ATN who sneezed so loudly she could be heard down the hall, or the boring commercials. Greg carefully curated each topic, slightly terrified Tom was either going to have some kind of nervous breakdown and kill them both in a weird murder-suicide, or else start pelting him with pizza. 

“I didn’t know you liked cheap pizza man,” Greg said. The TV played a commercial for sneakers, and Tom sat up straight and stiff, still in his work clothes, “It’s like, plebeian shit compared to your normal food probably.”

“I don’t,” Tom replied, and took another bite. 

“If you wipe the grease off,” Greg said, motioning with his own napkin, “It tastes better. Not so much like a liquid.”

Tom glared at him, and took another very aggressive bite. Whoever Tom was imagining was the pizza slice, Greg was hoping it wasn’t him. 

“Hey man,” Greg said carefully. He was pretty sure he wasn’t qualified enough to deal with dysfunctional rich people and their issues, but he really did think Tom was his friend. 

(When exactly they had become friends and not just weird co-workers, Greg didn’t know. But one day Tom had stopped verbally assaulting him, and they’d become allies, then friends. Greg supposed you couldn’t commit a felony together and then like, _not_ be some kinda friends after.)

Tom looked up.

“Are you, like, going to kill yourself?”

It hadn’t originally been what Greg was going to ask. He was going to ask “are you alright” but he was pretty sure Tom would have told him to fuck off, and figured this might have been a better option. 

“Cause you’ve been like, super messed up lately,” Greg said, “And like, I’m concerned about you.”

“What the fuck is this? Dr. Phil? Fuck off Greg.” He took a long sip of wine. Greg didn’t actually have any wine in his house, but Tom had brought two bottles, and had been nursing his out of the bottle for an hour now.

“No like, my mom, she knew this woman and her son started acting all out of character and stuff and then like two months later he killed himself.”

Tom stared at him, pizza in hand, “So you think that I’m going to, what? Jump out of my office window?”

“I don’t know,” Greg shrugged, “It just seemed like what I should ask. Cause you seem fucked up, if that’s not like out of place.”

“You think telling me I’m fucked up is not out of place?”

“I don’t know man.”

They sat in silence for a while. Greg wondered if he should ask the internet about this one. Just post on some forum “I think my boss/friend/cousin in law and I are having a weird emotional affair, I’m not sure what to do. Thoughts?”

(And I’m not sure I mind, he would tack on the end, if he had the guts to.)

He was sure someone on the internet could help him figure out what the fuck he’d gotten into. Cause he sure as hell couldn’t.

“You just seem like something’s up,” Greg said after a minute. He poked at his pizza slice, but found he wasn’t that hungry. He wanted something stronger than greasy food and fancy wine, “Like, I’m worried about you is all?”

“You’re _worried_ about me?” Tom said, “Who are you? My mother? You’re worried about me, that’s a laugh.”

“Yeah,” Greg said. He felt stupid saying it. Tom wasn’t going to tell him shit, and Greg felt like a little kid. 

“You were right,” Tom said suddenly, so quiet, Greg almost missed it, “But if you tell anybody Greg, I’ll have you murdered by an expensive hitman while you’re asleep and they’ll never identify your body when they pull it out of the Hudson.”

Greg zippered his lips.

“About,” he hesitated, “About what you said at the wedding. A fucking open marriage. On our _wedding_ night. I mean. What the fuck is that? I know we were supposed to be adults, but I kinda thought that would, you know, end when we got married.”

“Are you, like, happy married to her?”

“This isn’t talk fucking therapy Greg,” Tom shot back.

“Didn’t- I mean, you sounded like you wanted advice man.”

“Not from you. If I wanted a shrink I’d get one. I’m just venting.”

“Oh,” Greg said.

“I’m sleeping here again tonight,” Tom said. He didn’t ask it, and Greg knew even if he had, there wasn’t anyway he could have refused. 

(And there wasn’t any way he _would_ have.)

“You’re my only fucking friend in the whole Goddamn world,” Tom said, standing. He tossed the uneaten half of his pizza back into the box, and took another swig of wine before setting it down, “Maybe we should run off together and open a bed and breakfast in New England or some shit. Make pastries or some fancy bread for the guests and decorate it with only used furniture. Exclusively watch liberal news. How’s that sound?”

This was another scenario in which Greg literally did not know how to respond. He knew Tom was probably joking, that the weird sort of flirting Tom did was just how he was, it wasn’t anything _serious_ , but for some reason this hit differently.

“Yeah,” Greg chuckled, instead of working out a reply, “Get some small dogs or something. Hey man, if you want to take a shower or something, I’ve got like, pajamas you can wear.”

He thought maybe Tom was avoiding going home. Maybe he’d been sleeping on the couch for a while now. The yacht had been weeks ago, the wedding even longer. He wasn’t exactly inviting Tom to live there, but he thought Tom might just do it anyway. 

“Tom and Greg’s we could call it,” Tom said, loosening his tie, “In some frilly font. Can you cook?”

“Not really,” Greg said, “Like, eggs and ramen yeah.”

Tom scrunched up his face, “Maybe you should learn. No one will want to stay if all we serve is eggs and ramen. Goodnight.”

Tom didn’t say anything else, but turned, and headed out of the room. After a few minutes, Greg heard drawers open, shut, heard the bathroom door close and the shower turn on. 

“What the fuck,” he whispered, “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”


	2. dancing with our hands tied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg have a night on the town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i started rewatching succession for the fifth time yesterday I need help

The club was practically boiling, and smelled heavily of vodka and expensive perfume. Greg hadn’t ever been much for loud and crowded parties, even when he’d been in college. But rich parties, he had discovered, were not the same as the regular kind. They were weird sex parties, or served only gold encrusted food, or were half party have weird performance art piece.

He sort of missed the regular kind, held in some dirty club where the alcohol was cheap, the music shitty, but at least the people didn’t own stock in the news you watched or the car you drove, and the deals going down were more sex and drugs and less insider trading and corperate takeovers.

But, he _had_ agreed to go out to the club. He could have said no.

He was pretty sure-- like 80 percent sure-- that Tom’s intention was to find a woman and have sex with her. It might have been som kind of fuck you to Shiv, but Greg had decided against pointing out that in an open marriage, he was entitled to do just that, and it might not have the desired effect.

It was best to not try and figure out Tom and Shiv’s marriage. It gave him a headache. 

Tom reappeared, while Greg was trying to hear the girls in front of him over the music. He _thought_ they were models, but the ringing in his ears was too loud to be sure. They could have said bottles, though he wasn’t sure why they would have. 

“There you are,” Tom shouted, a large drink in one had, “Having fun? Make some girl’s night?”

“No um,” Greg frowned, “I think that I should like, eat, because drinking on an empty stomach is really bad. Do they serve food here?”

Tom laughed, “Of course not. This isn’t Chili’s Greg.”

“No I know,” he frowned, “It’s too loud.”

“Yeah,” Tom nodded, “Come on. We’ll get out of the crowd for a second. I think I’ve found you the perfect match.”

Really, Greg wasn’t interested in the hookup Tom had apparently procured for him. He didn’t think Tom really _wanted_ some girl he found at the club, and Greg was sure he didn’t want whoever Tom thought was good for a quickie in some backroom. 

Greg was no therapist, but he was pretty sure Tom needed one. Whatever he had going on with Shiv-- with all the Roys-- couldn’t have been healthy. 

He excused himself from the women, who didn’t seem to mind, and followed Tom off the dance floor and to the upper level of the floor. His shoes still stuck slightly as he walked, a remnant from the sticky dance floor. That seemed to be a staple of any dance club, regardless of the median income of its patrons.  
“Here,” Tom said, swiping a drink off a passing waitress’s tray, and pressing it into Greg’s hands. She didn’t seem to notice, and Greg took it but didn’t sip. He wasn’t thirsty, and thought he wanted to eat something, but he also felt some kind of obligation not to leave Tom alone. 

(Becoming the babysitter for executives seemed to be his new lot in life, but it paid well.)

Tom flung himself down on one of the leather sofas, sinking low and holding his glass on his chest. Greg sat across from him, aware of his height, of the space he took up. He never noticed it really, having shot up the summer he turned fifteen, but right now, jammed between the couch and the weird strange glass table covered in condensation rings, toothpicks, and crumpled up napkin, he felt about ten feet tall.

“She’s hot,” Tom said, “This girl, and her friend. Maybe she’ll blow me, and then start dating Kendall. Really balance out my shit luck. Maybe all of them can hook up with someone I got to third fucking base with.”

“Yeah,” Greg said nonchalantly. Sometimes Tom just said shit. He thought maybe Tom just liked to talk, and Greg didn’t mind it, not really. 

“What’s your type Cousin Greg?” Tom asked, looking over at him. Greg personally thought he looked like shit, but also kind of pathetic, sitting there in his work clothes, a half drunk cocktail held loosely in one hand, sunk low on a shitty sofa in a rich people club, “I’ll play your wingman.”

“Oh,” Greg said. In truth, his dating had been essentially non essistant. He’d rarely been financially stable enough to afford dinner for one, much less dinner for two. In high school he’d been awkward, too low on the social rung to get the guts to ask anybody out. When he thought about it, Tom was the last person he’d actually been on a date with, but he figured he shouldn’t count that. 

He wasn’t sure what that had been exactly, when Tom had wined and dined him the night before Kendall’s vote of no confidence, but it had felt kind of like a date. 

He made a quick note to add that to the ever growing list entitled “is this just corporate masculinity, a homoerotic but somehow stictly platonic friendship, or actual dating?”

(Now _that_ was a memoir title.)

“Are you gay or something?” Tom asked, in a way that probably was meant to come across as sort of uncomfortable, or disapproving, but really, he just sounded curious. 

Another one for the fucking list then. 

“I don’t know,” Greg said, answering before his brain had time to come up with an actual answer, “I’ve never really like, dated before. I was always focused on my school and my work. And like, it’s so expensive, to go on dates.”

Tom made a face that Greg could not decipher, but placed somewhere between annoyed and intrigued. Maybe both? Greg finally started in on his stolen drink. It was stronger than he thought it would be, but he was too embarrassed to show it, and so he pressed down a cough. 

“You don’t know?” Tom asked, finally sitting up, and leaning forward, as if Greg was telling him something horrifically entertaining. Greg set his drink down.

“Yeah I mean maybe?”

“Huh,” Tom said as if Greg had made a very poignant comment on literature or art, from a point of view Tom and never considered before instead of just saying that maybe he was gay, “Fuck it, come on Cousin Greg.”

“Where are we going?”

“You and I are going to fucking dance.”

“What?” Greg stole a glance at the dancefloor, “Are-did you do heavy drugs or something? Cause it’s probably worse if you do them while you’re drunk.”

“My life’s falling apart,” Tom said. He’d been saying stuff like that more and more and Greg never knew what to say. He tried to be supportive, but when you walked in on your boss in his office saying that he was going to have a nervous breakdown, but then watched him walk out onto the floor and shout at the person who delivered the mail-- like he did every couple of days and wasn’t even remotely out of character-- it was hard to figure out what was actually going on, “And this shitty cocktail was thirty dollars. I’m going dancing. Are you coming with me?”

Tom looked at him expectantly. Greg knew he could say no. Tom probably would rag on him for a bit, but give up. It was a strange request after all. 

“Sure,” Greg said, “I’m like, a bad dancer though. My mom says it’s because my legs are too long, but like if I step on you-”

“I won’t hold you liable for it. It’s actually possibly I will get so incredibly drunk that I won’t even remember it if you do.”

Despite being pretty sober, the events of the night were blurry. He could remember the dance floor, remember being pressed against the other dancers but still several inches away from Tom and he remembered being hungry. He was pretty sure he’d mentioned it over the din and that’s how he and Tom has ended up at one of the 24 hour fast food places down the block. Greg had ordered a large meal and Tom watched him eat, occasionally picking at the fries but looking mildly disgusted by them. 

“People are going to think I’m your sugar daddy,” Tom said, choosing the exact moment Greg had taken a sip of his soda, and he nearly spit it back out, “Isn’t that embarrassing for you.”

“I don’t think anybody thinks that,” Greg replied, not that positive but pretty sure. No one in the restaurant seemed to even be awake enough to pay attention to them, “aren’t you hungry man?”

“No,” Tom said, “just looking at that is giving me hives. Do you actually enjoy fast food?”

“I mean it’s ok. I like it cause you don’t have to be so performative.”

“ _Performative?_ Fuck off. What does that even mean, performative?”

Greg shrugged, “it’s a weird word.”


	3. out of the woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg gets stitches, and Tom babysits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the thrilling third installment, we're on 1989 and as much hurt/comfort as these two morons allow

Putting Tom down as his emergency contact had to have been some fit of insanity. Greg wasn’t sure what exactly had possessed him to do so, but Tom was his best friend. Probably his only friend. And the thought of bothering someone like Kendall or Rome if he was ever in the hospital was far too embarrassing to even consider. 

Of course, he’d never really expected to _need_ an emergency contact in the first place. 

But there was Tom, standing in the waiting room while the desk sent Greg home with some stitches, and a pile of paper he was probably not going to read. 

“What happened to you?” he asked, and Greg thought he detected a note of concern on Tom’s voice. But that could have just been his imagination. Or wishful thinking. 

“I got into a minor car accident,” Greg said, shifting his jacket. His head was aching from the stitches and the now running out painkillers, “But like I’m fine, they just thought maybe I had like a concussion but it’s just a cut. But like, head injuries bleed a lot.”

“Uh huh,” Tom said, eyeing him, “Since you can’t be trusted behind the wheel of a car apparently, I’ll have to drive you.”

“It wasn’t actually like my fault,” Greg said quickly, “The other drive hit the brakes early I guess. That’s what the cops said. I guess it’s like no big deal.”

“Unless you bled out on the sidewalk or something,” Tom replied, with the casualness of someone commenting on the weather, “That’d be a big deal.”

“Yeah probably. But I mostly just sat in the ER for a while. Crazy healthcare system here I guess. Good thing the company has good insurance.”

“I’ll take you home. Apparently you can’t be trusted on your own, dumbass. Maybe I should move in and fucking babsit you.”

Greg chuckled nervously, unclear as to if that was a joke. Tom held an arm out to usher him forward, and he walked onto the street. It had been several hours since he’d gone into the hospital, and the sun was beginning to set now. It had been several hours since he’d eaten, but the thought of food turned his stomach. What he really wanted to was to go to sleep for the foreseeable future.

“You look like shit Greg,” Tom said, “Are you sure you don’t have a concussion? You know it’s bad if you go to sleep with a concussion.”

“The doctors,” Greg looked back at the hospital entrance, “they said that it was superficial? It just bled so much because it was a head injury. Do you know how to get blood out of clothes?”

“No,” Tom made a face, “Why would I know how to do that?”

“I just thought you might.”

“Just buy a new shirt Greg,” Tom said, “You know I didn’t know you put me down at your contact?”

“Oh,” Greg said quickly, “Yeah I just thought- like I didn’t want to bother like Kendall or somebody with it and we’re best friends so I thought it would be ok.”

“Are,” Tom leaned in closer, “Are you trying to confess something to me Greg? Am I your next of kin?”

Greg opened his mouth, then shut it. 

“You should get home,” Tom said, uncharacteristically kindly, “And sleep it off. Hopefully you don’t croak in the middle of the night. Guess I’ll just have to stay and make sure.”

“Yeah if you want to,’ Greg said, “I mean there’s like leftover Chinese food you can eat but it’s from a few days ago so it might be dried out.”

“I think I can afford to buy fresh Chinese food Greg.”

Greg didn’t reply. They got in the car in silence. He had expected a driver, one of the ones the Roys employed and seemed to rotate through, but Tom got into the driver’s seat himself. Greg thought about asking him why, but he decided against it, and instead propped an elbow up on the door and rested his head on his hand. The meds had made him tired, slightly sluggish. Maybe it was because of that that he was having so much trouble thinking straight.

He must have dozed off, because he woke up to Tom shaking him slightly, the car parked outside of his apartment. 

“I can’t leave you in the hot car like a fucking dog,” Tom said, “Someone might break the window and I’ll make you pay for it.”

He trudged up to his living room, and dumped his bag on the coffee table, and tossed his jacket over the nearest chair, where it promptly fell to the floor.

“Look man, you can stay if you want, Greg said, practically collapsing onto the sofa, “But I’m very much planning on sleeping for the foreseeable future.”

“Here,” Tom wandered into the kitchen, and Greg watched him fill up a glass of water. He returned and held it out for Greg, “I’ll get you some pills to take.”

“That’s really nice actually, thanks.” 

“Sure,” Tom shrugged, “If you died I wouldn’t want you to haunt me Greg. That’d be very annoying.”

Tom left, and Greg heard the noise in the bathroom of bottles rattling, and he returned.

“Don’t take too many,” Tom tossed him the bottle, “You just got out of the hospital. I’ve heard stomach pumping is unpleasant.”

The pills took very little time to work, and after a few minutes, Greg easily fell asleep on the sofa. He was too tall for it, but the long day and meds were enough to knock him out for several hours.

When he woke up, it was dark, and he took a moment to remember where he was. His head ached, and a gentle press reminded him of the stitches. He was hungry, but instead of standing downed the rest of the water, which was now room temperature and unappealing. But his mouth was dry and it tasted like the best water he’d ever had. 

He sat up carefully, in case he was dizzy. But clearly the doctor’s were right, and he wasn’t concussed. He squinted in the semi darkness, and his eyes settled on the figure sleeping in the chair. It took a moment to recognize it as Tom.

He hadn’t actually thought Tom would stay, but the empty take out container on the table and the TV playing muted news said that Tom had been there for a while now. He had joked about babysitting Greg, watching him to make sure he didn’t like, die in his sleep, but he honestly hadn’t really expected him to stay the night. 

After a moment of consideration, he decided against getting up to snack, took another two pills, and fell back asleep.

And in the morning, he wasn’t even that surprised to find Tom there too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would just like to apologize for putting this nonsense out into the world...it's really head empty no thoughts hours here


	4. call it what you want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Tom take the emotional out of emotional affair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd like to apologize to jane austen for this one

Despite no real experience with relationships, Greg was pretty sure that this affair was about to turn into an actual, physical affair before the night was over. How, exactly he knew that, was unclear, but he was aware of the shift in Tom’s strange flirtatious ways from joking to… not really joking anymore. There was a strangeness to the air tonight, despite no real change. Almost an electric quality. Maybe it was just the tension. 

(Greg also knew he could put a stop to that if he wanted to. But he didn’t want to. Maybe this would be the worst choice he had ever made, but he wanted to make it anyway. If this was a fuck up, it was one he wanted to make.)

And now there was a bottle of wine open in front of them, mostly full still, surprisingly enough. Tom had shown up, unannounced, and Greg had let him in, as always. It was more than commonplace now. Greg never asked about where Tom went in between the office and the nights here, and Tom never offered anything. 

There _was_ still a marriage to contend with. 

Greg thought that open marriages were fine really, if everybody was agreeing, but even though Tom had never explicitly said that he hated it, Greg was pretty sure he hated it. Then it wasn’t so much an open marriage anymore. They probably should have talked more about it if that was something they wanted. But Greg was the last person to be offering relationship advice.

“So Greg, are we going to make this shit official or what?” Tom leaned back slightly in his seat, and looked over at Greg expectantly. 

Greg frowned, “What are you talking about?”

Actually, Greg was pretty sure he knew _exactly_ what Tom was talking about, but he didn’t want to assume. That would be absolutely mortifying, and there would be no way to come back from that. There’d be no question, he would have to move out of the city and change his entire identity. 

“You and I,” Tom took a long sip of wine, “I can’t tell if you’re trying to play innocent or you’re just being stupid.”

“Oh,” Greg said, “Like you and I, like, you know.” 

He gestured vaguely with his hands, instead of saying anything. Tom shook his head slightly, and sighed. 

“This isn’t Jane fucking Austen Greg, why are you being so repressed about it? Who’s here to hear you say it?”

“I mean it’s like we’re gonna have an affair or?” He knew that was sort of a stupid thing to say, but that’s what it was, at it’s base. An affair. With his boss. Christ almighty. 

Tom frowned, “We don’t have to call it _that_. It’s just… is what it is. Listen, talented Mr. Greg, what I’m saying is I would like to take you to bed. Probably several times. Maybe even several times _tonight_. I am incredibly desperate for that, and it’s honestly painful at this point, how bad I want you.”

“Yes,” Greg said, far too quickly, throat suddenly dry and voice a pitch too high. He knew his response was too fast because Tom laughed. It was also suddenly about ten degrees warmer than it had been just a few minutes before, and he set his glass down carefully, in case his hands were shaking. Why was he acting like some scared kid about all of this? This was what he wanted _desperately_.

“Eager are we?”

Greg hoped the dim light ensured Tom couldn’t see his blushing. He was actually blushing. Jane fucking Austen was right. Jesus Christ. 

“Is that bad?” He asked, embarrassed by his own actions. Tom probably thought he was a dumbass now. More than 

“No,” Tom said softly, “No it’s not.”

“I didn’t- I mean I didn’t know you wanted to.”

“Wanted to what Greg? You can say it. It’s not 1800.”

“Sleep with me. Have sex. Intercorse.”

“Jesus,” Tom shook his head, chuckling as he did so, “Maybe this is Jane Austen. Jesus Christ. _Intercourse?_ It doesn’t have to be a _thing_ , we can just be what we already are with, well, with benefits.”

“What about Shiv?” Greg asked, knowing full well it was the wrong thing to ask. He never brought up Shiv unless he absolutely had to, and he knew Tom was probably grateful for it. But like, morally, he thought he should probably ask. He knew what he was agreeing to, but there was still a third member to contend with.

Not that he was gonna change his mind.

“We’re still open,” Tom said, his tone telling Greg that was the end of the discussion. Greg briefly debated arguing, but decided against it. He didn't want to make Tom mad, “So it’s fine.”

(This couldn’t have been healthy, could it?)

“Oh,” was all he said. It was pretty non committal.

Tom set down his wine glass, and smiled, “Yeah. So. I mean, we should probably kiss right? Just to make sure?”

“You mean it? I mean you’re not dicking around with me? I’m not about to get fucking punked or some shit? Like I lean in and then you like, punch me in the stomach?”

“No Greg, I’m entirely serious. Would you like me to show you how serious I fucking am?”

Greg nodded, just once. Held his breath. Felt like a fucking high schooler in a movie on prom night. Or a shitty romance movie. It was pretty forward thinking, this hypothetical film, but Greg felt sort of weird about it. Maybe it was just because he felt like the main character for once, and it sort of was awful.

The kiss tasted like wine and though it wasn’t really Greg’s first kiss, it felt like the first one to matter. And wasn’t that Goddamn cliche. What the fuck had his life become?

“Thoughts?” Tom asked, when he pulled back. One of his hands was on Greg’s knee, the other brushed across his cheek. His touch was light, gentle. Greg was sort of surprised by it. He had expected...something harsher. This vulnerability seemed so different from the Tom he saw on a day to day basis.

“Uh yeah,” Greg said, though honestly his brain was working at only about half speed, “Yeah. Nice.”

“And now? Now what Greg? Let’s use our words huh?”

“Now we go inside? The bedroom I mean.”

Tom smiled-- and Greg felt himself melt a bit, “Yeah. Now we go. Unless you’d like to go for it right here on the floor? That seems a little crass for me, but who am I to judge.”

Greg laughed nervously, though nervous wasn’t really how he felt. Eager was probably the right word, expectant. Excited, “Not the floor. Inside. Bedroom. Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk if y'all can tell but i'm really going through it so i've decided to make that everyone else's problem and literally update this like everyday.


	5. treacherous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom shows Real Human Emotions and Greg tries to figure out what exactly he feels.
> 
> alternatively, tom go to therapy challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the fact that this is currently being updated like daily? who is she? where was this motivation when i was in class?

It had changed, a lot really.

Yes, Greg knew that he and Tom weren’t, like _dating_ but whatever it was, it was good. The stolen nights in his room, the fancy dinners, and the late evenings in the office.

Those were the riskiest. 

Even when most of the office was empty, when the blinds were drawn and the door shut, even though the odds of them being found out were slim to none, the implications of what they were doing seemed bigger. Like Greg’s apartment was a safe space. Unless somebody broke in to rob him, nobody would walk in on them, and like, at that point they would have bigger problems. But this was so… public. 

Tom sat on his desk, softly bouncing one heel against it. Greg was on the sofa, the light from his laptop far too bright for the late hour and lazy setting. They were there under the pretense of a paperwork mixup, but as Greg’s computer had been playing the screensaver for twenty minutes now, he was pretty sure that wasn’t going to happen. 

It sort of felt like the episode in every show where the executive stays late at the office, pretending to work over time but then it comes out that he’s been banging his secretary the whole time. 

“Why are you sitting so far away?” Tom asked, jolting Greg out of his thoughts, “I don’t bite.”

“Oh yeah, sorry,” Greg pushed himself up, “I’m just kinda tired. I don’t think I’m sleeping enough maybe. You know you’re supposed to get like nine hours of sleep a night?”

“I suppose I’ve been keeping you from that,” Tom laughed quietly, “come here.”

Greg didn’t need to be told twice. He pushed himself up off the sofa, and walked over. Tom hooked a finger in his belt loop and pulled him close, in between his legs. Greg felt honest to God butterflies in his stomach. What the fuck was _that_ about?

“You’re something else Greg, you know that?”

“I don’t know about _that_.” Greg said, wondering just how many shades of red his face turned. Why Tom was able to fluster him so much was still unclear. 

(He had a hunch, but any thought of the idea was enough to make him want to run, so he ignored it as much as he could. He was certainly not going to address it now.) 

The office was quiet, the general chatter and typing and ringing of phones long since dead. Even the sounds of traffic were muted this high up. It was easy to pretend that nothing outside of the office existed. 

Still apprehensive in their new dynamic, Greg always thought his actions through. He was still waiting for the other shoe to drop it seemed. What was the thing he’d do that would end this precarious new existence? 

But after a moment of thought, in which Tom remained holding his belt loop, and Greg remained frozen, he decided his course and smiled. 

Carefully, slowly-- probably too slow, but Greg wasn’t sure the right speed in which one should kiss the man they were having an affair with while they hid in his office late at night-- he leaned forward and pressed their lips together. He felt Tom shift, felt a hand on the small of his back. Tom’s cologne smelled like laundry, clean and fresh. 

It felt, well, safe. Comforting. 

Greg briefly wondered just how close two people could physically get before they were on opposite sides of where they started, just flipped right over the other person. Because they were encroaching on that right now.

“Very forward,” Tom said, when they pulled apart, his eyes still shut. His voice was unnaturally soft, almost sweet. He drew a deep breath, and then opened his eyes finally, looking up at Greg, “I liked it.”

“Oh,” Greg replied, “Good.”

“ _Good_?” Tom shook his head, “Something else Greg, I tell you.”

“Thank you?” He was _pretty_ sure it was a compliment but he wasn’t certain.

“You should do it more often,” Tom said, tugging on Greg’s tie as he did, “It’s so aggressive.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“Just a little bit,” Tom laughed, “You take it so well. It’s cute. Maybe I’ll keep you around.”

This felt more like teasing than Tom’s actual flirting, but still, Greg wasn’t entirely sure. 

“I just think I want to be cared for,” Tom whispered, quietly, quickly, and Greg almost missed it He would have too, if he hadn’t been so focused on Tom in the first place. “The same way I care for people.”

He looked down, letting Greg’s tie drop against his chest, and then his hands drop into his lap. It was honestly he looked pretty pitiful sitting there. It honestly made Greg’s heart ache. Maybe it’s just cause he was a sort of good person-- at least he liked to think so-- and it sucked to see someone you, well, someone you cared about so upset.

“I mean yeah,” Greg said, “Yeah. I guess that I could. I mean, I know I’m like a hookup or whatever but like if you wanted me to like, take care of you. I mean. I don’t know.”

“Greg, just shut up. You’re not even coherent. Just shut up.”

“No man, like that’s really sweet,” Greg said, “That that’s what you want. Like you’re really vulnerable deep down but like-”

“What did I just say Greg? I said shut up. If you so much as breathe a word of this to fucking anyone-”

“I won’t,” Greg said. He had more than skin in this game now, anyway. There was no way he could ever use this information-- not that he would have anyway-- without implicating himself in everything, “I won’t.”

“Just shut up Greg,” Tom muttered, wrapping his arms around Greg’s middle, tighter than he had expected him to. Their relationship so far had been mostly sex, the occasional making out, and a lot of fucking around. This felt… drastically more serious. This was verging less on the friends with benefits side and more on the actual developing feelings and putting in honest to God emotion and real people vulnerability. 

Things, like, couples did. Couples who loved each other, and shared a life together, and went to Thanksgiving at each others houses, and went on road trips, and went on cheesy dates and held hands and made breakfast together. Real couples.

Not two people who were too repressed and royally fucked up to think things through for too long, and who were both falling apart in their own way.

Greg didn’t say anything further. Tom already seemed like he was borderline nervous breakdown, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be responsible for it. 

So instead he returned the hug, pressed a kiss to Tom’s head, and made a quiet promise to himself to stay here as long as he had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look....i just want them to talk and be soft


	6. cruel summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Tom shows up unannounced. Greg never asks too many questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how many days in a row is this? what does that say about me as a person? did i have to google popular midwestern food for this? am i like, ok?

Quite often, Tom showed up unannounced. Sometimes he called, texted, or promised that he was coming by that night-- Greg didn’t know if he really liked that, but he accepted it-- but other times he would just show up. Greg knew that this was probably where Tom came if he and Shiv fought, or if Shiv wasn’t home that night. It made him...what? Second place? A rebound? 

But then again, that’s what he was supposed to be.

He was the other woman, the hookup, someone you took to bed, but you didn’t bring to the family dinners. They had made it clear there were no strings attached. There were no feelings, no jealousy, no anything behind whatever it was they did. That was like, the first rule of having an affair, Greg thought.

(And if someone were to ask him, yes, he would say, I know it’s bad. It’s unhealthy. But I want to see him.)

So he didn’t really mind when Tom showed up without telling him. 

“You left your jacket here last time,” Greg said, nodding to the coat rack, “I didn’t want it to get, like wrinkled.”

“Oh,” Tom frowned, “Thanks. What are you doing?”

“You’re gonna make fun of me,” Greg replied.

“Probably,” Tom said, throwing himself into the chair, “Good Lord, Greg. Food Network?”

“It’s actually like really informative,” Greg replied, though he felt sort of stupid. Tom probably only watched the news, and had people to cook things for him. There was something… embarrassing about Tom finding things out about him, like what he watched, and the kind of coffee he liked, and the way he organized his closet, or, like, what color sheets he had. They were private things, intimate things you found out about someone only when you got pretty close to them. 

“When was the last time you followed a recipe you saw on the Food Network?” Tom asked, He pushed himself up, and went into the kitchen, returning with two glasses and a mostly empty bottle of whiskey someone-- maybe Kendall-- had left several months ago, “Want some?”

“Sure,” Greg said. He dug around for the remote and turned down the volume so Tom wouldn’t hear it and make fun of him further. Tom poured two glasses, and then finished the last few drops straight from the bottle, “You alright man?”

“I’m fine,” Tom replied, “I’m fucking swell.”

“Can I help? I mean, like, I don’t know.”

“No,” Tom sat back down and picked up his drink, “Thanks I guess. I don’t know. I came all this way and honestly? I don’t even think I want to have sex tonight. Made it a whole thing. Came all the way over here, for what. I’m not even into it anymore.”

It stung, more than he would want to admit, the way Tom saw him. Even though he knew it, hearing it was something else. Greg downed half his drink in one sip instead of replying. He could _not_ afford to be hurt by stuff like that. That was the opposite of no strings attached. That was several strings. 

“That’s alright,” he finally said, since it was clear Tom had nothing else to say, “I think there’s another bottle somewhere. Kendall left a bunch here a while ago.”

Tom made a face, a grimace more than anything. 

“You know Greg,” Tom said, looking down at his drink as if it had personally offended him, “You don’t have to- I mean, you and I don’t have to be exclusive. If you want to go out and get laid, I don’t care.”

“Yeah I know,” Greg replied, though he _hadn’t_ actually known that. In fact, he had assumed that when you started hooking up with someone on the downlow, there was an exclusivity about it. But then again, he was no expert, “I’m like, fine though. I mean. It’s whatever.”

“Huh,” Tom nodded, “Still. I don’t care what you do. You don’t even have to tell me. Don’t tell me actually, I don’t want to know.”

“Yeah no,” Greg rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m not like, I’m good you know?”

Tom shrugged, “You’re a big boy. Do what you want.”

“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to help?” Greg asked, bracing himself for Tom to tell him to butt out. 

“No.”

Greg nodded. He hated it when Tom was like this. He knew something was wrong-- that was obvious-- but Tom would never discuss it. He had to practically pry things out of Tom, and even in times when he was willing to talk, Greg was lucky to get more than a minor explanation. Even now. 

“Turn the volume up,” Tom said after several very tense minutes, “If we’re gonna watch it, we might as well hear what they’re saying. And move over, so I can sit there.”

Quickly, Greg complied, and Tom dropped down next to him. On the TV, they were making what looked like a very elaborate steak, and Greg kept glancing over at Tom, who was either incredibly interested in the recipe, or zoned out into another universe. It could have been either.

Carefully, slowly, like he was approaching a skittish animal, Greg reached out a hand and took one of Tom’s. He wanted to help. Even if they weren’t actively hooking up, Tom was his friend and he did _care_ about him. And he didn’t know what the _fuck_ he was doing with any of this, but at that moment, it felt like the right thing.

Tom didn’t rip his hand away, didn’t smack his hand and tell him to fuck off. Greg had sort of expected him to almost. Instead, he continued staring at the TV, but gave Greg’s hand a squeeze. Maybe just in acknowledgement. 

“It’s uh, it looks good,” he said, “That dinner. I tried to make steak a couple of months ago and I almost set the stove on fire. My mom says that the cooking gene must have skipped me. I’d probably screw it up if I tried, even if I like, I watched the episode while I cooked.”

“My mother’s a good cook,” Tom said, absentmindedly, “She makes green bean casserole for every holiday. It’s a staple out west. You’d like it. I haven’t had it in a long time.”

“Maybe you can go for Christmas or something,” Greg suggested, “I’m sure it’d be nice to get away.”

“No,” Tom shook his head, “We won’t go. We’ll have to stay here. You know.”

“Sure.”

“It’s fine,” Tom said again, “It’s fine. Just watch, and learn how not to set your dinner on fire.”

It wasn’t fine, Greg knew it, and he was certain Tom knew it too. But he didn’t press any further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! appreciate you stopping by.


	7. you are in love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg's whole "repress feelings and pretend they aren't there" strategy finally fails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how many days in a row now? who is she? 
> 
> y'all have been too kind with this fic.

Every single time, Tom complained about Greg’s sheets. They were too low thread count, he said. But Greg literally did not know what that meant. They were fine for him, and they were sheets. It wasn’t like they had a big role in the grand scheme of his life. 

But Tom was nothing of not consistent in his complaints. Greg was sort of fond of them now. Expected them. 

“I’m serious. Christmas I’m buying you new sheets,” Tom said, climbing into bed. He made a big show of brushing a hand across the sheets like they were sandpaper.

“I think maybe people might like, wonder?” Greg offered, “It’s kinda a personal gift?”

Tom rolled his eyes, “who are you going to tell?”

“I just mean like it’d be weird because like, technically you’re my boss. And like you know the thread count of my sheets? I mean I don’t think that’s like water cooler talk?”

Tom laughed, “I think you got me there Greg.”

Greg chuckled too, rolling over onto his side. It was easier late at night, in the quiet of the bedroom not to think about the fact that he was not only having an affair with a married man, but that he didn’t even care. 

(His mother, he was sure, would have been both horrified but mildly impressed at his ability to work his way into the good graces of his superiors. He didn’t know which reaction he hated more.)

“I mean it,” Tom said, “it’s like a fucking dorm room.”

“I mean they _are_ just sheets.”

“It’s the principle of the thing Greg.”

“You’re not actually leaving though,” Greg pointed out. 

Tom rolled his eyes, “I’ll plead the fifth on that one.”

After a moment, Tom held out an arm and Greg rolled over, fitting himself against Tom. He didn’t _really_ fit there, not physically at least. The bed wasn’t really big enough for two men over six feet and it felt strange to sleep next to someone. To listen to Tom snore, or to hear his heartbeat-- a reminder that someone else was occupying the same space as him. Voluntarily.

So far, the relationship had been purely a friends with benefits deal. They had dinner, slept together, _slept_ together, did all the things that friends with benefits did, but Greg was under the impression that there were no feelings involved-- even when Tom opened up a bit, Greg thought he didn’t have anybody else to talk to about it, that he trusted Greg or whatever. Even so, it didn’t dip into real relationship territory. It was friendly. Close, but still platonic.

He thought maybe Tom was just, like, touch starved or something, and he didn’t mind this sort of thing. Not at all. 

In fact, he liked it. 

(He also knew that maybe there was no way that he could _not_ develop feelings. But he’d been working hard to avoid it. Maybe it was working. Probably not.)

“You think I should work on firing Steven?”

“Who’s Steven?” Greg asked. It was getting later now, but he hated falling asleep before Tom. There was some strange concern that Tom would leave if he fell asleep, or Tom would drop the act and show that there was no way he really felt like this was anything but sexual. 

Greg didn’t want to know. 

“The blonde. Works like three cubicles down from the office.”

“Oh. The short guy?”

“Everybody’s short to you, fucking Green Giant. But yeah. Him.”

“Why do you want to fire him?”

“He annoys me. And I can.”

It was not lost on Greg that this was easily a conversation they could have anywhere else. The dinner table. The office. The car. Anywhere besides the literal bedroom. Greg didn’t know really what that meant, but he knew it had to mean something. He was pretty sure most conversations about firing someone didn’t take place in bed. 

“Then I guess maybe yeah,” Greg said. 

“That was committal.”

“You’re the boss, man.”

Tom laughed, “Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’m just drunk with power. I’ve never been really even remotely _in charge_ of something before.”

“Well with great power comes great responsibility,” Greg said.

“Spider-Man Greg? You’re quoting Spider-Man in bed? Jesus fuck. How unromantic can you be?”

“You knew what it was though.”

“Well I’m not an imbecile Greg.”

They fell silent again. Greg didn’t like to be quiet. It was better to try and fill the space, so it wasn’t awkward, or uncomfortable. But he didn’t seem to mind it so much with Tom. And besides, Tom was talkative too, so maybe Tom felt the same way.

“I’m fucking exhausted tonight Greg,” Tom said, “So I thought we might just sleep.”

“Yeah,” Greg replied, “That’s fine. That’s good.”

Still, Greg wasn’t entirely used to the noise that came with another person. Even when that person was asleep.

Tom snored, usually pretty loudly, but in the time since this arrangement had started, Greg had come to sort of like it. The background noise was nice, while he slept. The first night or two it had kept him up, and instead he watched Tom sleep, and felt like a fucking creeper the entire time. But now it was like white noise. 

(That was so Goddamn _sappy_ that he couldn’t even think about it for very long.)

“Night,” Tom muttered. 

“Oh yeah,” Greg sighed, “Goodnight.”

After several minutes, Tom’s breathing evened out, his heartbeat steady under Greg’s ear. This felt different, felt too much like dating, like, well, like something much more tender and affectionate than just the benefits they’d agreed to. Sleeping--literal sleeping-- with someone was so intimate and _personal_. It was something you didn’t just do with anybody. You were so...vulnerable when you were asleep. And Greg thought Tom only looked truly peaceful when he was asleep. 

And wasn’t that just stalker behavior. Tom was asleep and Greg was watching him, appreciating how his breathing sounded. When had boss, become best friend, become….this? It wasn’t supposed to be like this. There were supposed to be no strings, no feelings. Even the times where all they did was sit, or talk, was supposed to be just that. They were not supposed to make it more than a fling. 

_Well shit_ , Greg thought, the realization too strong now to even attempt to ignore, _I’m fucking in love with him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasps* the _drama!_
> 
> anyway, if you have a specific taylor swift song you would like to see please let me know! i have an ongoing list, but she's go so many songs, who knows what i missed! thanks!!


	8. don't blame me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and his mom discuss his current predicament.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im almost done with my fifth succession rewatch i-
> 
> also,,,,greg's mom is in literally like two episodes and let's pretend this is an accurate portrayal of her.

In one arm, Greg balanced the package he’d picked up in the lobby, and the other, he unlocked the door, all while trying to keep his phone between his ear and shoulder. He knew calling his mother was… not his best option, but he wanted to tell _someone_ and there wasn’t anyone else.

“Hi Greg.”

“Hi Mom.”

“Is everything ok?” she asked, “You in trouble?”

“Oh no,” he said, “Well, not actually.”

He pushed the door open and went into the kitchen, dropping the package on the table. He didn’t remember ordering anything but it did have his name on it. 

“What does that mean?” She asked, warily. Greg didn’t blame her, and he was almost proud of the fact that there was absolutely no way she could guess what he was going to say.

“I’m sort of seeing someone,” he said, beginning to dig through the drawers for a pair of scissors, “Like, actually seriously seeing someone.”

“Why is that bad? Who is it?”

“Well he’s married.”

“Jesus Christ, Greg. _Married_?”

“But it’s kind of a grey area, because technically they have, like, an open marriage,” he gave up the hunt for scissors, and picked up his keys to rip open the tape. It was an Amazon box, but unless he’d been absolutely shitfaced, he hadn’t been the one to order anything, “He and his wife I mean.”

“Does she know?”

“I mean, not technically,” he sliced open the tape and put his phone down on the table, clicking the speakerphone button so he could have his hands free, “Like, I don’t think he told her. But like, it’s open. And it’s not like I’m married. So it’s alright.”

The package had a note on the top, which he picked up to read, hoping it would offer some kind of insight. He didn’t think drunk him would have been coherent enough to write a note, so it must have been from someone else. 

_Greg,_ it read, _These are what I meant by high thread count. Put these ones on, I’m begging you._

He smiled, unable to help himself, and set the note aside. He sort of hated how good this dumb gift made him feel. It wasn’t helping him work through the whole being in Love with a capital L thing.

“Do you know his wife?”

“Well,” Greg began, “Technically yeah. It’s uh, it’s Shiv.”

“Shiv- Shiv _Roy_?”

“Uh huh,” he said, pulling the package out and tossing the protective wrapping in the general direction of the trash can, “Yeah.”

“You’re sleeping with your cousin’s husband? Isn’t he your boss?”

“Technically. Again it’s sort of a gray area.””

“Lots of technicalities Greg. Do you not see how this can end?”

“No I know,” he said, “But I’m pretty sure I’m, like, in love with him.”

He heard his mother sigh, unsurprisingly. He didn’t blame her, but if she really knew what it was like there, she wouldn’t blame him either. She couldn’t. But he still knew he was being kind of stupid.

“Greg-”

“Yeah,” he cut her off, deciding he didn’t want to hear it, “I know.”

“You have to be careful,” she said, and even though that was obvious, he sort of appreciated her concern.

“I know.”

“You really love him?”

“I mean maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never been in love with anybody I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like.”

His mother was quiet for a moment. He checked to make sure the call hadn’t dropped, but didn’t say anything. 

“Ok,” she said.

“Ok? Ok what?”

“Ok I’m not going to stop you. If you love him-- just enjoy it while you can I guess. At least he’s high up.” 

He couldn't tell exactly how his mother felt about it. The joke was there, weak, but there. But still, he knew that arguably, he was the bad person in this story. No matter how Shiv and Tom’s marriage was going, Greg was probably in the wrong. But it was good that he was aware of that. It had to be right? He wasn’t really that stupid. 

Greg laughed, “Yeah. I mean. Yeah.”

“Just be careful. Consider what you’re doing. There’s a lot at stake here, personally and professionally.”

“I will. It’s not- I mean. I know what it is.”

She sighed, “Be careful Greg.”

“I know. I’m not gonna tell him. About the love thing I mean. I don’t want him to know.”

She was silent. 

“What? You think I should tell him?”

“It’s not good to lie. But I’m sure you’re doing what you think is best.”

“Yeah,” Greg said, although he was in no way convinced that’s what he was doing. In fact, he really didn’t have much of an idea. But he didn’t really want to tell her that, “Probably.”

“Just be smart about this,” she said. 

“I know,” he replied, “I will be.”

They said their goodbyes and Greg hung up. He wasn’t actually sure if the conversation had been helpful, but it was the first time he had ever said the love thing out loud. It felt sort of weirdly good to say, but he knew it would have to be the only time it was every said. It’s not like he knew anybody else he could hash this out with. 

Though the hypothetical conversation was pretty funny. Granted, it would only be funny from the outside. It was the scene from the movie you would laugh at, just because of the absurdity of it. 

Would Greg be the one you would sympathize with? The stupid one who fell in love, knowing damn well it was pointless? Would it be Tom, the one who was looking for something more? Would it be Shiv, the actual wife, the one who’d probably be the main character of the movie? Greg wouldn’t be the one you sympathized with. 

He was the bad one, the one who existed to serve the man’s character arc and nothing else. He was probably one dimensional and unlikable. 

You didn't root for that one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhh so yeah here you go! thanks!


	9. august

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg muses on what exactly he's gotten himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and uh yeah, the daily updates continue because i am still Going Through It

When things were good-- he hated using that word. How could things be good, when the emotional in affair had been replaced by full blown, but that was the best word he could come up with-- but when they were good, it was sometimes easy to forget just what was going on. When they had quiet mornings together, or when Tom dropped the act long enough to say things that Greg knew he meant, real vulnerable words. 

They never talked like that. Any of them, not the Roys, not him. Vulnerability was dangerous in a world like this. Maybe Tom felt safe enough to relax around Greg.

Greg knew that no matter what, he’d never make him regret that. That was probably stupid. If he wanted to get ahead, he couldn’t be scared of use any information to do so, but betraying Tom somehow felt like too much.

But it wasn’t always good. Tom had a wife. Greg didn’t know much beyond that. Their relationship remained, despite it all. Perhaps divorce had been thrown out, but Greg couldn’t see that happening. Too much to deal with. There was a prenup, he knew only because Tom had mentioned it once in passing. There was money and family and businesses all tied up in that marriage. 

It was probably too complicated to get a divorce. 

What mattered was that no matter what they did, Tom wouldn’t be his.

And he fucking hated even thinking that. It sounded like a rom com or something equally cheesy and the idea of his life being a rom com was by far the worst thing. Greg did not want to become the plucky young woman who just moved to the city and got swept off her feet by the handsome executive, the woman you saw in every Lifetime movie. How embarrassing would that be?

And Greg had never really seen himself as one to have an affair. He supposed it wasn’t that, really, not if Shiv didn’t mind an open marriage, but even if she did, he was pretty sure Greg wasn’t who she had in mind. And he was certain Tom hadn’t told her exactly who he was seeing on the side. Affair was the right word. 

(He really should just quit his job, move out of the city and maybe change his name.)

Tom loved Shiv. Even if Tom didn’t explicitly say it, Greg knew it was the case. And no matter what, he thought Tom would always love her. He’d never let go of that. 

And maybe that was alright. Greg hadn’t ever even _been_ in love before this so what the hell did he know. They were married. That was the way it was supposed to be between husband and wife. Who was Greg to form an opinion on the matter? He was an interloper of _epic_ proportions. Even if their marriage was open, Greg was sure he was exactly what Shiv had in mind.

He hated everything about it really. The fact that Tom was… whatever Tom was to him. The fact that he was pretty sure _this_ was the person he’d decided to fall in love with. The fact that Tom was married. The fact that Tom loved Shiv. The fact that even if in some inconceivable future, they could be together, the obstacles leading to that seemed insurmountable anyway, so it wasn't even worth considering. 

The entire thing was incredibly mortifying. He thought people would know somehow. The people at work, on the train, in stores, in coffee shops. 

_Hey!_ his face would say, as open as a fucking book, _I’m Greg and I’m having an affair with my married boss. It’s incredibly complicated, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him and this can only blow up in our faces so what the fuck. Can I get two shots of espresso in that actually? I had a late night._

He couldn’t even bring himself to use the word _boyfriend_ because for one, it felt too childish and for two, your boyfriend usually wasn’t someone else’s husband. 

(Actually he felt _kind_ of like a mistress. It was a word that bounced around his head no matter how much he tried to swat it away. It wasn’t really a title he liked for himself? Greg Hirsch, mistress extraordinaire.)

Because at the end of the day, Tom would go home to his wife. Greg didn’t know what went on behind closed doors but in the eyes of God and the law and the world they were married. And no matter how many nights Tom spent in Greg’s bed, it would never be like Greg really wanted it to be. 

What he wanted it to be when he really thought it over. 

But then Tom would come over and they would joke and talk and it would be alright. Greg would forget for long enough what he was—what they were— and he’d forget that Tom would not be the kind of boy he could bring home to his mother, the kind he’d bring to family parties or Christmas. And at that time he’d be alright with it at that moment. 

He could go back to hating it after. 

“You with us Greg?” Tom asked, waving a hand in front of his face. They were at the table, dinner—leftovers from the other night— in front of them. Greg shook his head slightly and picked up his fork. 

“I was just thinking. Sorry.”

“I can tell. Looks painful. Don’t kill yourself over it.”

Greg managed a weak chuckle, “yeah.”

He lived for these times. As stupid and cheesy and romantic and dumb as it was. He should have never let this happen. How could he have been _that_ stupid?

“Sorry,” he said, “did I miss what you said?”

Tom shook his head, “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“Nothing,” Greg smiled, determined not to ruin the dinner. They were too far and few between, “Don’t worry about it. I’m just hungry I guess.”

Someday he’d get tired of planning his life around Tom’s availability, around Tom’s life. Around waiting, hoping he might call. It was stupid and unhealthy. He had to get tired of it.

But maybe not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always. next chapter is switching things up a tiny bit!


	10. interlude: cornelia street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom thinks about the walk to Greg's and what it'll mean when it's all over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big shoutout to becoming_untouchable for this particular concept! remember to leave ur fave tomgreg taylor songs!

At some point, Tom had memorized the walk to Greg’s apartment. 

He had taken to walking, only to preserve some sense of secrecy as to the frequencies of his visits. Not that he thought Shiv really noticed. She wasn’t home nearly as much as usual anyway, them both coming and going as they please. But there were other people who could see, and word traveled fast. 

But he discovered, one late evening, when the city was rushing home, that his feet had memorized the way. No effort needed.

Oftentimes he called, but sometimes he was on the way to Greg’s before he had even decided that’s where he wanted to be. There was something distinctly comforting about that place, inviting in a way his own home was no longer. Maybe it was because there he could pretend his life wasn’t as bad as it was, that he wasn’t as deeply _unhappy_ as he was. 

Greg never asked too many questions. Just let him in. Listened to him bitch or went right to bed with him. It was never an _ordeal_ with Greg. It just was.

He knew that the place wasn’t theirs. That he and Greg were not together. That was way too far out of the question anyway. Friends with benefits. No strings attached. Fuck buddies. Any of the above. This was not a relationship.

Besides, he was still fucking married. Regardless of how fucked the marriage was. 

And he didn’t expect anything of Greg. Sure, he was kind, and held him and slept next to him, but he was pretty sure Greg was just doing that. It didn’t _mean_ anything. He knew what love looked like-- at least he thought he did-- because Shiv did love him. And he’d seen her love him.

No, this was just for fun. For something. To feel something.

He thought sometimes, on the walk, that if this were to blow up in his face, how he’d never be able to make this walk again. He’d have to drive. Go around. Something. Because he had too many memories of just the walk over. Stupid shit Greg had texted him when he was on the way. The CVS he sometimes stopped into. The liquor store that sold that shitty wine Greg liked. 

He never liked thinking while he made this walk. Usually he was reminded of exactly what he was doing. And though he was pretty sure Shiv didn’t really care who he slept with, he could still he her voice, _“Fucking Greg?_ ” and he didn’t really like how it made him feel. 

It was too complicated. Way too fucking complicated. Best to keep it as it was. Private. Emotionless. That was better. Because he’d put a hell of a lot of emotions in his marriage and then been too Goddamn scared to tell her that she might not have wanted monogamy but he did.

And so he had let her have it. Tried hard to blow it off as nothing. She had said that she loved him and he had to take her for her word. 

But this would be allowed, under the terms of their agreement. She didn’t even have to fucking know. They were adults. 

(He still felt sort of bad, every time he showed up at Greg’s door. He almost wanted her to find out somehow, to chew him out, to claim him as her husband. Everything before was over, and they could just be them now. But he knew it wasn’t going to happen. He hated to admit it but he did.)

Instead he stuck to sneaking around Greg’s neighborhood, getting drunk on the wine he brought, and pretending that it was alright.

Shit, when this ended it was going to hurt.

Because there didn't seem to be a way it could go well. Greg would grow tired eventually. He was handsome and was attached to the Roy name, and had a good job and wasn’t fucking _married._ Why would Greg put up with this secrecy bullshit? And Tom had made it perfectly clear this wasn’t exclusive. It shouldn’t have to be. Why should Tom get to go home to a wife but Greg was fucking locked up?

(But the thought of Greg seeing someone else, of him in someone else’s bed made him jealous. Not that he had a single right to that particular emotion.)

He knocked lightly on Greg’s door-- he’d been unaware he’d arrived until he was there. Greg opened it. 

“Hey man,” he said, still dressed in work clothes, though he’d lost his tie, and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone, “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Is there someone here?” Tom asked, glancing past him suspiciously. He didn’t expect Greg to say yes, but he always braced for it. 

“No,” Greg frowned, “Just me. I would have like, put on coffee or something.”

“Oh,” Tom brushed past him without waiting to be invited. 

He tossed his jacket off onto the nearest chair, and flopped down onto the sofa. When this went south, he’d probably miss Greg’s sofa the most. It was long enough that he could lay comfortably. He put an arm over his face. And since Greg was always fucking passing out on it, it was nicely broken in.

“You good?” Greg asked and he heard the door shut, “It’s kinda cold out, it’s supposed to rain tonight I think. The weatherman said that it was from the storm out in the Atlantic or something. I used to know this kid who would track hurricanes for fun. He would probably know.”

“Well let’s be sure to fucking find him on Facebook and ask Greg. Cause I really want to know about the rain.”

And really, Tom knew this wasn’t their house. But it sure fucking felt like it. At least he wasn’t _paying_ for Greg’s apartment. He wasn’t sure he could justify that Myrtle Wilson level bullshit.

(Though, to be fair, Shiv was no Daisy. And he wasn’t sure if that made him Gastby or Tom Buchanan, but he didn’t think he liked either of those very much.)

But he knew he had left things here. Greg had made a drawer for him in the bedroom and though Tom had spent twenty minutes making fun of him for it, it was actually incredibly sweet. It was like a little hideaway. He felt a little better here, more relaxed. There wasn’t such a need to act. He knew Greg didn’t care if he was a dick to him, but Tom didn’t feel the need to be _quite_ so dickish away from the office, away from the Roys.

Damn he would miss this. It was actually serious, he would just have to avoid this neighborhood. It wouldn’t be _that_ odd, but he’d still have to make an effort.

He could only hope that Greg wouldn’t fall in love with anybody in the near future. Until Tom could pull himself together. Because he couldn’t keep Greg here if Greg wanted to go. That would be pretty fucked of him. He just needed time. That was all. Time.

But then again maybe that would solve all his problems. Greg would fall in love with somebody and Tom would let him go and then he’d have to solve his own problems. No more fucking off to Greg’s place when shit was bad. It might be helpful if Greg would see other people.

No matter how badly he did not want that.

“Tom?” Greg asked, “You ok?”

“Fine,” He said, removing his arm and looking up. Greg was staring down at him like some kind of incredibly tall Disney prince, “You look like Dracula you freak, back up.”

Greg sat down.

“It was a Goddamn long day,” he said, trying to get Greg to stop staring at him with those puppy dog eyes he had. He always felt the need to spill his entire life story to Greg, who he was pretty sure would just sit there and listen. Not that he was going to open that particular can of worms, but Greg, despite all the shit, he was pretty sure that when it was personal, Greg wouldn’t use it against him. 

That might not have been right, considering Greg had actively blackmailed him before. Not that he’d done a particularly _good_ job, but honestly, when it came to personal shit, he trusted Greg implicitly. Maybe that was stupid. Maybe he didn’t care.

“I mean,” Greg rubbed the back of his neck, “I know how you could, like release some of that tension.”

Tom sat up enough to look at him properly, “Greg are you actually attempting to _flirt_ with me? What happened to Jane Austen?”

“Guess I’m getting better?”

Tom laughed, “I like the way you think. And I’ll take you up on the offer.”

At least for tonight, he’d try and forget about all that. Greg’s bed was awfully inviting. 

And for now, the walk was still bearable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bout to watch the season two finale tonight. i continue to Go Through It.


	11. wildest dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg is pretty sure this feels more like a date than anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i finished season 2 again last night and uhhh i'm reminded that i'm just _not_ dealing with certain events of the episode in this fic because at heart, i am a fluff writer so we can just pretend it's all fine

“Dude,” Greg whispered, leaning in, after a cursory glance around, “This is like, really fancy. Like the fanciest place. And like, are we allowed to be here?”

“It’s a restaurant,” Tom replied, glancing over the menu, “I don’t think they look at your yearly income before letting you in.”

“They don’t serve songbirds here do they? Cause I’m pretty hungry. And honestly, those were sort of the worst thing I have ever eaten.”

Tom chuckled, “No Greg, this is a very normal menu. Maybe not the high end cuisine they cook on _Food Network_ but still.”

Greg frowned, and looked over the options. Why did Tom remember that he liked to watch Food Network? It seemed like such mundane information. 

“But like, I’m pretty sure that the plates are like gold encrusted,” Greg whispered, “And like, did you see that fountain? Those were like real diamonds. That could have like, paid my entire college education.”

“This is the upper crust,” Tom explained, “You need to get used to it. And if you can’t, you need to fake it. You’ve spent enough time around money now to know how it works.”

“I mean I guess,” Greg sipped at his water nervously. This felt a _lot_ like a date. Like more so than before. That was obviously bullshit, because this was nothing special. He needed to stop thinking like that because it was only going to end horrifically painfully, “What are you going to order? Are you supposed to like, order a lot of courses? Cause there are a multitude of silverware here.”

“What I don’t understand is how you can attend something like the RECNY ball and still have picked up no culture. You start with the outermost and work your way in.”

“Right,” Greg nodded, looking at the plate, “Like in Titanic.”

Tom groaned, “Sure Greg. You have to start acting the part Jack fucking Dawson.”

The waiter returned, poured wine, and after Tom ordered a dish he had never heard of, he ordered the same. He figured it probably made him seem cultured. But he also hoped it was not just another variety of small bird. 

What didn’t make sense was why rich people ate such odd foods. What was wrong with a nice hamburger? 

The thing was, Greg knew Tom didn’t grow up Roy rich. Of course, few people _did_ but Greg wasn’t sure that even if he became a billionaire, he wouldn’t be able to give up normal people things. Tom seemed to try hard to pretend he wasn’t who he was. 

Obviously, he’d never bring this up. He was pretty sure Tom would gut him if he so much as mentioned it. 

Still, Tom was better at pretending than Greg could ever hope to be. 

(Which was pretty fucking bad, since pretending was something Greg needed to get good at fast.)

“Have you ever been here before?” Greg asked. He never knew how to act when Tom brought him places like this. 

“Hmm?” Tom looked up from the wine list, “Have I been here? No. Why? You want to fuck one of the waiters or something?”

“What?” Greg shook his head, “No. Not even- I was just wondering.”

He sometimes thought Tom was encouraging him to see other people. He’d given him permission, but Greg couldn’t figure out if he meant it. Because Tom clearly wasn’t happy when Shiv had asked for an open relationship, and while he and Tom weren’t married, he was determined to keep things exclusive. But like, would Tom be mad if Greg came to him and told him there was somebody and they had slept together? He honestly didn’t know.

Besides, now that he’d given in and fallen in love, he didn’t really want anybody else. Not right now anyway.

Tom made a face. Greg had absolutely no idea what it meant. He thought maybe Tom was either pretending not to believe him, or actually didn’t.

“You’re fucking with me,” Greg said.

“Yes,” Tom nodded, “I am. You’re getting better at figuring it out. But if you want to you can.”

“That’s ok,” Greg said.

The food arrived after several moments of silence. He didn’t mind so much. The restaurant was quiet anyway, most of the talking was whispers, above the light music playing. Tom kept sort of kicking him under the table, but in a strangely playful way, and Greg had no plans to tell him to stop.

“Oh it’s steak,” Greg said, after the waiter was out of earshot, “I just kinda hoped for the best. Looks good.”

Tom rolled his eyes, “I didn’t hear the fire alarm go off did you?”

“They probably, like, don’t need even a recipe here. They probably just know.”

Dinner passed uneventfully. The food was good-- he supposed it had to be for the price. People would sue if they had a shit meal and paid so much for it. They went back to his after several glasses of wine and a light rain had begun to fall outside. It was later than he’d expected it to be, but he never knew exactly if Tom had to be home or now.

They shook water off their jackets and Greg ran a hand through his wet hair.

“It’s pretty late,” Tom said, glancing at his watch, “I’m going to go.”

“Oh sure,” Greg said, stifling a yawn himself. Sometimes, Tom stayed the night, sometimes he didn’t. He didn’t know Tom’s reasonings, but Greg never went over to their house. He thought maybe Tom wanted to keep the two areas of his life as separate as he could, but it was probably for the best. It was best to regulate their affair to one house.

He had fully anticipated coming home and going right to the bedroom. That was usually their MO, and that was just fine because that’s what their relationship was about. Sex. Sure, they were still friends, but they also had the benefits. But this had felt a little different somehow. Greg sat down in the nearest chair and pulled off his shoes one by one.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Tom said. He leaned down and kissed Greg quickly, “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah sounds good.”

“It was a nice dinner,” Tom mused, buttoning up his jacket for the walk, “You’re not a bad date.”

Greg chuckled, “Thanks.”

It had felt like a date. A real fucking date, no promise of sex or anything afterwards. It was the kind of thing you did with people you had real affection for. 

Maybe he could just hold on to this night when everything went to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always! tell me ur season three theories so i don't watch the show again for content.


	12. superman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg takes a sick day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've almost finished writing this! (although it's not all going to be up for a while) but it's likely this will continue with daily updates barring unforeseen circumstances

It was one of those strange times, when Greg woke up, and couldn’t quite remember where he’d fallen asleep. The surroundings were not the familiar surroundings of his bedroom, and for the briefest moment, he panicked. 

But after his eyes adjusted to the dark, after he woke enough to think coherently-- the cold medicine had worn off enough now, the haze lifted slightly-- that he remembered laying down on the sofa earlier. One of the movie channels was playing a slasher movie marathon, though someone had turned off the TV. 

He pushed himself up, and glanced around. The sun was just starting to rise, lighting the room enough to see, but not light enough for it to qualify as day. It had probably been a long time since he’d fallen asleep, because the last time he remembered seeing the time it was only just after ten at night. 

Despite his best efforts, Greg had caught the cold going around the office. 

(Actually, he was pretty sure he’d gotten it from Tom, who had been sick last week. But if anybody were to ask, it was the office cold.)

But what was Greg supposed to do when he showed up looking like death warmed over? _Not_ buy him a few cans of chicken soup-- making it from scratch would have probably given him food poisoning on top of the cold-- and let him sleep on the sofa till he felt better? 

It was actually _inevitable_ he’d get the cold too.

Tom’s logic had been that he was now immune to this particular strand of the virus, and so it was alright if he hung around Greg. 

He reached for his tissue stash and blew his nose. There was no use in trying to go back to sleep without another dose of medicine. Not when he could pretty much only breathe out of his mouth. 

From the direction of the bathroom, he heard the shower running. Tom was still here then. 

At some point, Tom must have covered him up, because when he stood, a blanket fell to the floor. He picked it up, folded it haphazardly and draped it over the back of the sofa. The table was littered with empty cups and dirty dishes, used tissues and Greg’s phone, which after a few taps, he discovered was dead. 

His mom was probably pissed. He had told her he was sick, and it was likely she’d called to check up. But he had no idea where his charger was, and downing a shot of DayQuil was his top priority right now.

The shower turned off. Greg dug through the shit on the counter until he found the right bottle and pried it open-- thankfully Tom wasn’t there to see him struggle with the child lock for longer than he should have. He downed the dosage and tossed the cap into the sink. 

Slowly, he made his way to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Gatorade, left over from when Tom was sick. He cracked it open and drank at least a third in one long sip. 

“Well good morning,” Tom said, walking into the kitchen. His hair was still damp from the shower, “Thirsty? Lacking electrolytes?”

“I guess,” Greg wiped his mouth with his hand, “I feel like shit.”

“Hate to be the one to break it to you buddy, but you look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Greg took another long sip, “Do you know what time I fell asleep?”

“Like 10:30?” Tom leaned against the cabinet and crossed his arms, “You talk in your sleep. Did you know that? I’ve never heard you do it before.”

“What?” Greg asked, a little louder than he meant. He did not know that. What the fuck had he said? There were embarrassing things for sure, but there were also life ruining things, that he for sure did not want Tom hearing. The first one was “I love you.” But if Tom had heard that he wouldn’t be standing there would he? “What did I say?”

“It was mostly incoherent. You said my name once or twice. I thought you were awake and like, dying. I was getting ready to record the last words of the great Gregory Hirsch”

“Oh,” Greg felt the relief wash over him, because unless Tom was very good at hiding things, Greg had not unconsciously confessed his feelings in some cold medicine induced slumber. 

He had to be more careful. He was getting careless now, and that was when he would slip up.

“Why?” Tom asked, frowning at him, “What are you hiding?”

“What?” 

“I’m fucking with you.” Tom shook his head, “You get so nervous about stuff and I don’t care. Hey, I stole your charger last night, but it’s back in the bedroom if you need it. You should get something to eat. I’ve got to go. It’s getting late.”

“Oh yeah,” Greg nodded, remembering that it was Monday, a weekday, “I’ll call out sick today I guess. Do I need to like formally tell you, or is this proof enough.”

“Yes it’s fine. Don’t bring your germs to the office.”

“No, I’m just gonna pass out probably,” Greg waved vaguely in the direction of the sofa, “Eat something and see if the movie marathon is still on. I’m most likely sleeping though.”

“Right,” Tom pushed himself up, “Call me if you start feeling really bad huh? Just so I know if I’m gonna come back to a crime scene.”

“Sure,” Greg said. He wanted Tom to stay and take care of him but he wasn’t a fucking baby and Tom had no obligation to have even come over last night. He should just be grateful for that and grow the fuck up, “I’ll be fine.”

“Sure you will,” Tom punched him lightly on the shoulder, “It’s a cold Greg, not the end of the world. Drink some fluids and sleep for a few days. You’ll pull through.”

Greg nodded, and sat down at the table. He occasionally looked up and watched Tom get ready for work while he poked around on his laptop. The medicine had begun to work, but he couldn’t focus on anything for more than about thirty seconds. 

“I’ll see you later,” Tom called from the front hall.

“Yeah,” Greg called back. The door slammed shut, “Bye.”

The room fell quiet. He got up and retrieved his charger, plugging it in next to the coffee pot and watched it slowly come to life. He dug around in the fridge but nothing seemed overly appealing, so he returned to the cabinets and popped open a new can of soup.

It seemed much emptier now. Maybe it was just because he was sick, and didn’t really want to be alone. 

He sort of wished Tom had called in sick too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	13. cardigan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg take a walk and Tom spends most of it venting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're _getting_ to the real actual angst, and after that it's smooth sailing folks

In the middle of the day, Tom threw open his office door without knocking and stood waiting. 

“Everything alright?” Greg asked. He’d just started eating lunch, but he had a million things to do and had every intention to work through lunch.

“I’m going for a walk. Would you like to come? Need a second set of ears on my thoughts and yours will work.”

“Sure,” Greg said, “Where, like, where did you want to go?”

“Does it matter? Are you coming or not?”

This kind of stuff was rare. These completely innocent interactions, middle of the day bullshit. Like this wasn’t bad, couldn’t be misconstrued. And so he liked to accept right away.

“Yeah,” Greg stood up and pulled on his jacket, “I’m coming.”

They went down in silence. Tom shouted angrily at two people who were too loud in the elevator, and then again at the security guard in the front lobby. Greg wondered if he should like, apologize for it. 

He followed Tom as he stalked down the stairs and onto the sidewalk. 

“Hey man,” he called after, jogging slightly to catch up to him, “Is- is everything alright?”

“Oh sure,” Tom said. He glanced up at the sky, and Greg tried to remember if there’d been rain in the forecast. He was pretty sure neither of them had an umbrella and he sort of felt like Tom might turn into a dragon if it started raining. 

He seemed to be heading in the general direction of the water, and Greg had a brief image of him just walking right in, but shook it off.

“This fucking family,” he heard Tom mutter, “I mean, am I in the family or aren’t I? Cause sometimes I feel like the fucking dishwater you throw out into the yard. Shit you kick under the bed when company comes over.”

“Yeah,” Greg said. He understood what Tom meant but had no fucking clue why he was saying it right now, “It helps to like, have the Roy name.”

They continued walking, closer to the river now. Down by where the Roys kept their helicopters, Greg realized. He thought he felt a few drops of rain, but if Tom noticed, he didn’t show. Greg watched a couple push a baby stroller down a ramp. 

“I mean what the fuck man,” Tom grabbed at the railing, and looked over the water. Brooklyn might be a nice place to live, Greg thought suddenly. He and Tom could get a house-- then he shook his head. Now was not the time to play make believe, “She’s my fucking wife. I’m Logan Roy’s Goddamn son-in-law, why doesn’t that mean anything.”

He wasn’t sure that Tom was going to explain what happened, and even if Greg asked, he couldn’t expect a straight answer. When Tom got like this was honestly just best to let it happen.

“I’m sorry man,” Greg said, “I mean, I’m sorry.”

“My mother says I should quit,” Tom said suddenly, “Thinks it’s bad for me. But she’s just babying me I think. After DC, I think she was kind of embarrassed. I’m sure she thinks I made a jackass out of myself. She’s pretty high profile in the Twin Cities you know.”

“And her green bean casserole is world famous,” Greg said. It was risky to make a joke, even though he wasn’t trying to be funny. He genuinely was trying to make Tom smile. But Tom might just walk away, but he saw a small smile cross his face, and he knew it was the right move.

“She would like you,” Tom replied, turning just a bit to look at him, “I mean, it’s not like I’d ever bring you home, but she would like you. We weren’t- I mean we had money, but nothing compared to Shiv growing up. Logan says I’m fathoms beneath her. And I’m just supposed to take it. I mean, is that fucked?”

“Kinda.” Greg thought that there were very few people on the whole planet who had what the Roys did growing up, but now wasn’t really the time to bring that up, and Tom was right anyway. It was fucked to hear that. Kinda made you feel like your wife was lowering her standards or something for you. Greg knew it probably wouldn’t make him feel so hot. 

“I think what I like about this,” he waved his hand vaguely between the two of them, “About us is that you don’t make me feel like fucking gum on the street.”

“Why-why would I do that?” He didn’t really want to ask it, but he did anyway. 

Tom shrugged, “It seems to be kind of a common occurrence. I usually let it happen. It doesn’t fucking matter. Sometimes I can’t stand to be in that office. It’s like claustrophobic.”

“No for sure. It’s tough. It’s really tough,” Greg said. He wished he could offer something else in terms of support but this was a very public area, and it felt far too risky, “Do you want to get some coffee maybe? Starbucks makes a delightful pumpkin spice latte this time of year, and I am pretty sure the sky is about to open up and fucking soak us.”

“Did you just call it delightful?”

“It’s pretty good. You like lattes. Have you ever had one?”

“Uh, no Greg.”

“You should have one. You’d like it. I’ll get you one.”

“Uh sure,” Tom said, and he ran a hand over his face, “Sure that sounds good. So long as you never fucking tell anybody about it.”

They were a few minutes too late, because the rain began before they could get inside. It was like someone turned on the shower, and Greg looked nervously at Tom, trying to gage if he was about to have a nervous breakdown at the sight.

But he was laughing.

“You good?”

“I’m fine Greg,” Tom said, looking up at the rain, “It’s kind of nice.”

“Are you going crazy? Because it kinda seems like that.”

“No,” Tom shook his head. Greg was beginning to shiver in the cold rain, and he tried to get Tom to speed up enough so they could get inside, “I’m fine. Really. Don’t worry about me. You don’t need to worry about me. You’re not my wife.”

“I know,” Greg said, like that didn’t just stab him in the gut, “I was just asking.”

Tom winced, “That was uncalled for. I’m sorry. Let’s just get inside huh? Let’s see if this is as delightful as you claim it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not important, but i imagine it as the starbucks on park row downtown. can you tell i miss the city?


	14. new year's day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A New Year's Eve party leaves Greg understanding why January 1st is National Hangover Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new year's day as a song makes me unfairly emotional

“Hungover huh?” Tom asked, kicking the sofa as he did, and Greg groaned in response. 

He laughed, but Greg thought Tom had to be hungover as well. The party was mostly a blur, full of people and music and quite possibly hard drugs. His mouth was dry, his head was aching, and the sun was far too bright for however early it was. 

That plus, the brightness of the snow, even this high up, was enough to make Greg was to take his head off his shoulders, in only for a few moments of relief. 

“Looks like a bomb went off in here,” Tom said casually, glancing around the living room, “Maybe you should hire a maid? Or several?”

Greg groaned again, and made himself sit up, “Holy shit.”

“You look terrible,” Tom said, “Here.”

He held out a bottle of water, and Greg forced himself to open it. A glance around the room told him that the party must have been a success, though most of it was a blur. He could remember midnight though, sneaking into the fucking bathroom of all places to steal a kiss. Why he’d chosen the bathroom, he wasn’t sure. Even his drunk mind must have been concerned about someone noticing them. But the bathroom? It was kind of… seedy. Even in his own house.

“Should have balanced it out with food,” Tom said, sitting down on the arm of the sofa, “Isn’t that what you always say? Forgot your own advice?”

Greg propped his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands, “Are you speaking really loudly or am I just actively dying? Is this what dying feels like?”

“Mmm,” Tom looked him up and down, “Maybe both. Drink up. We got a mess to clean.”

“You don’t have to help,” Greg said, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand and waving the other dismissively, “I’ll get to it.”

“Greg, this is disgusting,” Tom looked around, scowling at the empty cups and confetti and several pieces of upturned furniture, “If you think I am going to stay here under these conditions, you are sorely mistaken.”

“Yeah but like,” Greg shook his head, only to discover that was a mistake, “I’m just gonna either puke or eat and then I can do it. It’s New Year’s Day so like, if you have somewhere to be.”

“I don’t,” Tom said, “Besides, I feel morally bad if I leave you in this hovel. Like you might get lost in it.”

Tom went into the kitchen, and he heard a trash bag open, and winced slightly at the noise. Tom returned and hung the bag on a chair, “You’re not going to puke on the floor are you?”

“No,” Greg swallowed and realized that was true, “I don’t think so. Dude, was it a fun party? I remember like, ten percent of it clearly.”

Tom laughed, and picked up the first empty bottle off the coffee table, tossing it into the bag, “Then you probably don’t remember when you spilled your drink on the biggest Wall Street trader’s daughter. _All_ over her. She probably _still_ smells like vodka. Wouldn’t want to have been you.”

“I did that?” Greg asked nervously, looking up at Tom.

“I’m fucking with you. You were fine. A little handsy in the bathroom, but I can’t really say I minded.”

“That’s embarrassing,” Greg took another long sip of water, desperate for both something to drink and something to occupy his hands, “Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Tom asked, tossing several stacked cups away. Greg was frankly shocked to see him cleaning, but his hungover brain wasn’t processing things quickly enough for him to form a coherent question about it, “We frequently have mind blowing sex and you think your drunking groping is somehow upsetting to me?”

“You think it’s mind blowing?” Greg asked, then pivoted, before he could think too much on whatever that actually meant, “Wait _groping_?”

Tom rolled his eyes and didn’t comment. He didn’t know if that was good or bad. He was pretty sure Tom was teasing him, but it didn’t feel cruel. 

Greg stood up and stumbled into the kitchen. He looked around for something to eat, hopefully with hangover restorative properties, and his eye settled on the leftover container on the table. It was possible someone had ordered it last night, or left it when the party ended, but he poked at it to discover it was still hot. He pulled the top off to peek inside.

“I brought you some breakfast. It’s on the table,” Tom called. Another clash of bottle on bottle, “it looks like a greasy mess. But the woman on the phone said it was their most popular hangover cure. Granted I wouldn’t touch it with a ten foot pole myself.”

“That’s actually really nice,” Greg said, pulling out the chair to sit. He ripped open the fork and took a cautious bite. His stomach seemed to appreciate the food, and so he continued. After a moment or two, Tom returned, and smiled.

“Yes?” he asked expectantly.

“Thanks.”

“Sure,” Tom said, “I figured we stave off the worst of the hangover. I already popped several painkillers for my own. But yours seems much worse. I lost track at some point. If you weren’t a giant fucking freak you might have passed out.”

“Hey, you can leave the shit,” Greg motioned vaguely around the kitchen with his fork, “I’ll take care of it later.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Tom frowned, “I’m sure I helped make some of the mess and if you’re not going to hire someone I might as well help. I can fuck off if you would prefer?”

Greg shook his head, “It’s just like, I mean, the party’s over. So like, you can go if you want to. You don’t have to help me clean shit.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Tom shook his head, “You’re fucking impossible. You want me to dump it all back out? I can become a problem if you would prefer.”

_It just seems_ , Greg wanted to say, _that this is some shit you would do if we were, like together-together. It’s one thing to party, it’s another to clean up._

But he only shrugged. His head hurt too much to try and figure it out. It wasn’t worth it, when his energy was much better spent stuffing his face. 

Besides, it was _probably_ nothing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	15. daylight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg share an early morning conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if i was to do one of those slopes you do in english class we're almost at the peek angst and then it's mostly a disgusting amount of domesticity, because time's are tough so let's force softness onto repressed and messed up wealthy white men

Actually, when he thought about it, Greg wasn’t sure how he hadn’t spilled yet. He wasn’t usually very good at keeping secrets. He always got in trouble as a kid, because after a look, he’d confess immediately to whatever it was and several other things. He just liked to talk, to tell people the things he knew. Keeping things in had never been his strong suit.

Tom would accuse him of seeing other people, would rag on him but Greg would always hold firm. He sort of hoped Tom would ask him about it. Just come out and ask if Greg had broken the no feelings part of the agreement. 

But he never did. Tom was good at keeping it emotionless, for the most part at least. There was plenty Greg didn’t understand, that he knew he _could_ ask about but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answers. He knew that Tom saw him as a friend with whom he had sex and made out with sometimes. Not as a partner, a significant other. Nothing like that and the less Greg had to be reminded, the better.

When it was late and Tom was asleep next to him, he’d plan it out in his head. In this fantasy life, Tom would listen to Greg tell him how he felt, and something would click and Tom would say that he loved him too. Usually in the fantasy world there was no one else to deal with, just them. Maybe everybody else was dead, or they lived in the middle of nowhere or they were just invisible and could do whatever they wanted.

It wasn’t like he wanted to get married or anything. That seemed like, so far out there it wasn’t even possible in fantasy land. He just wanted this really. To come home to this at night. They would eat breakfast together in the mornings, and do normal relationship things. There would be no sneaking around, no hiding from wives and family. 

But they couldn’t be normal.

In his sleep, Tom snored and rolled over. An arm fell across Greg’s chest.

There seemed to be little reason for why Tom chose to stay some nights, but those were better. He felt a little off when Tom left in the middle of the night, and he woke up to an empty bed. Or when he got dressed and left right after. Greg felt like he’d failed his performance review or something and Tom silently trying to tell him to do better next time. 

Gently, carefully, Greg slid out of bed. He needed space or something, to think. Tom was a pretty heavy sleeper, and it was unlikely he’d even notice.

He snuck out of the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind him. The living room was dark, and he flipped on one single light in the kitchen, giving the room the smallest artificial glow. 

It was like they were only really together at night. The darkness could hide it better than anything else.

But fuck. It’d be nice to be together _all_ the time. Like real, normal people. 

The clock above the stove told him it was just after four. Tom was good about getting up by seven, even on weekends, so he still had several hours to either go back to bed, or to finish his existential crisis so he could be alright by the time he had to see anyone.

“Greg?” 

He looked up, quickly, heart racing and he froze like he’d been caught doing something not allowed instead of standing in his own kitchen.

This was unexpected. He’d never woken Tom up before. 

Tom squinted at him in the dark, from the doorway into the hall. He looked like he’d literally rolled out of bed, and Greg felt a flash of warmth when he put together the fact that Tom’s hair was all messed up because of the way Greg had run his fingers through it.

“Hey man,” he said, “I just got up to get some water.”

It was an easy lie, and he’d said it before he had ever planned an answer. To prove his point he opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle. Tom frowned at him.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked. It was _almost_ accusatory, just enough to be noticeable but not enough to get defensive, and Greg was pretty sure this acting weird wasn’t new, and Tom had picked up on it. The question was probably in reference to the past months, and not just right now.

“Nothing,” Greg took a long sip. _I love you, but that’s not something really wrong. It’s just driving me batshit crazy is all._

Tom stepped into the kitchen. Greg swallowed. He felt like Tom was trying to read him, like if he stared long enough Greg might admit to something. But Greg was becoming something of an expert in keeping his fucking mouth shu evidentlyt. 

He took another long sip of water.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up. I tried not to. My mom says I always make a lot of noise whenever I do stuff. Like a lamb who doesn’t know how to walk yet she says.”

“No,” Tom shook his head, “You didn’t wake me up. I just _woke_ up. You look a little fucked up if you don’t mind me saying so. Are you drinking this early?”

“I’m fine,” Greg said, “I’m going back to bed.”

“You know you can tell me if something’s wrong. Did something happen? I mean, if you’re not alright with what’s going on between us-”

“No no,” Greg shook his head, “I like it alot. I mean it’s fun and it’s good. It’s not that.”

“Cause you should say something. If you don’t like it. You can say no. Don’t hide that shit.”

“It’s not that,” Greg said again, “Don’t worry. I’m thinking maybe I’m not eating right. How much protein are you even supposed to eat everyday?”

“You’re a freak Greg, you know that? Who gives a fuck about protien at four in the fucking morning? Am I gonna have to forcibly drag you back to bed or would you like to go over the nutritional value of everything in the house?”

“No, we can go to bed.”

Greg set the bottle down and they returned to the bedroom. Tom watched him slide into bed and then followed suit. After a moment of fighting over the covers, and in an uncharacteristic move, Tom put his head on Greg’s chest. Greg tried not to even breathe, that’s how still he wanted to stay. He waited until he heard Tom’s own breathing even out, and until he started snoring lightly again before relaxing. 

It felt sort of like Tom was keeping him there, like he didn’t want Greg to get up again. That was, of course, wishful thinking, but if he was working on a fantasy universe, he could allow that reasoning. In reality, Tom was probably just sleeping like that because it was comfortable. 

Greg was the one who had broken the no strings attached agreement. Tom was behaving as he should.

This was nice. It was just a shame that by morning this little bit would be over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	16. wonderland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg gets Tom to loosen up a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've never _actually_ smoked weed before and i'm sure that's obvious but i _did_ spend like half an hour reading people's accounts on the internet so please grant me some *jenna marbles 32 year old lady song voice* literary license.
> 
> (of course tw if you're bothered by any kind of drug talk, be cautious going into this. there are very brief and vague descriptions of and use of weed! take care of yourselves is this is a trigger for you!)

Greg was pretty sure it was only a matter of time now. He knew Tom was starting to get suspicious. He was distant. Not as talkative. It was clear something was wrong. Tom kept asking out of nowhere, like he might be able to trick Greg into admitting what was wrong. 

He didn’t want to use anything, like, as a crutch, to get through this, because it was going to suck _horribly_ when he decided to go through with the actual ending. 

The last time he’d actually smoked enough to get high had ended incredibly terribly, but had also bought him a ticket into Logan’s birthday-- so maybe it wasn’t all bad. But he was good enough at it to usually give himself a light buzz, enough to take some of the edge off, and besides, he was an adult, as his mother liked to remind him when he did stupid shit.

The buzz was pretty nice, enough to stop him thinking about he was actually actively going to fuck his life up. Not just accidently this time. He was going to make a conscious effort to break his heart. Whenever that happened. It was to be determined. 

“Oh Jesus Greg,” Tom said, when he pushed the door open. Greg had left it unlocked and told him to come in, though that had been hours ago now, “Smells like a party in here.”

“Hey man,” Greg said, “You want in?”

Tom frowned, then after a moment he shrugged, “Sure.”

Greg held out the joint and Tom took it gently with two fingers, like it might burn him or bite him. It was kind of like watching someone who had no idea what a drug was, much less what you did with it suddenly find out about them. 

“I’ve never actually smoked weed before,” Tom said.

“No offense, but I can tell.”

Tom glared at him and took a long drag, and immediately sounded like he was hacking up a lung. Greg wanted to feel bad, but it was pretty funny. He laughed anyway, despite the offended look Tom gave him.

“Holy shit,” Tom made a face, “Are you trying to kill me? Is that what this is about?”

“I think you’ll live. You’re not doing it right I bet.”

“You’re telling me there’s a right way?”

Greg nodded and scooted forward. He’d never actually had to teach anybody how to smoke before, and he was pretty sure Tom wasn’t going to be the best student. 

“Look,” he took the join and then took a long drag as if to demonstrate, “You have to inhale it. Deep. You can’t just suck on it. Nothing’s gonna happen that way.”

“That’s fucking exhausting.”

“It’s practice.”

“Right,” Tom didn’t look convinced. 

“Here,” he held it out, “Try again. I’ll get another one. You take this one.”

After several quiet moments, broken only by Tom’s occasional wheezing, they settled down. Greg slid down a bit on the sofa so he could tilt his head over the back. He was exhausted but he didn’t think sleep would do much for him.

“Oh,” Tom said finally, breaking the silence, “I see. It’s not bad.”

Greg nodded, “Uh huh.”

“Kind of relaxing. I should have done this sooner.”

“Yeah you’re kind of a hard ass.”

Tom laughed, “Yeah. I know.”

“That’s alright though,” Greg considered his words. His mind was just fuzzy enough to be nice, but he was still pretty with it. This was a little dangerous. He had to watch himself or he’d tell Tom everything he’d worked hard on not telling. This wasn’t the time nor the place for fucking a confessional. But he was pretty sure he could keep it together, “I don’t mind it.”

“I think,” Tom frowned, “That I only do it because I don’t know how else to be.”

“That’s ok,” Greg said, “I know you don’t really mean it.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Tom sounded defensive, but only slightly so. The weed was taking his edge off, mellowing him out. Greg should have suggested this ages ago. Might have been beneficial.

“Just saying shit. I don’t know. You want something to eat? I’m hungry.”

Greg didn’t wait for an answer, but pushed himself off the sofa and meandered into the kitchen, pausing only briefly to squeeze Tom’s shoulder as he passed.

He looked around the kitchen, and returned with a family size bag of Doritos, which he dropped onto Tom’s lap.

“These are my guilty pleasure food,” Tom said, staring at Greg as if Greg had just deposited the Holy Grail into his lap. He laughed, and sat back down.

“Yeah,” Greg smiled, “I know. Bought them for you. A while ago. I don’t know. You never eat shit like that.”

Tom furrowed his eyebrows at the bag before opening it, “I _am_ hungry.”

“I know,” Greg smiled. He leaned forward and put a hand on Tom’s face. This was a little bold, but it would be fine. They were fucking after all. It just all felt different to Greg now. Everything he did held more weight or something. He wasn’t thinking clearly enough to figure it out. But time was running out on things like this. He had to soak it up while he could.

They kissed. Tom was breathing heavily, probably still working through the new experience. Greg laughed against him.

“You’re cute,” Greg said when they pulled apart, “Even though you’re a shitty stoner.”

“I’ve never been presented with the opportunity,” Tom reasoned, waving a single Dorito around as he did, “You’re full of new experiences Greg. You know I didn’t even think I was, like, into guys before you. I mean, you were like, my bisexual awakening. I think that’s unfair of you.”

Greg laughed, “I guess I can put that on my resume. Like, helped my boss realize his sexuality. Please hire me.”

Tom laughed too. It stung a bit to say, since Greg had been actively updating his resume, but Tom didn’t need to know that. Not yet. Soon, but not yet. Not tonight. Tonight he was pretty sure they were going to eat that entire bag and pass out in the living room.

“You’re my best friend Greg,” Tom said, seriously now, “You’re not allowed to be best friends with anybody else.”

“Your best friend that you sometimes have sex with,” Greg pointed out. 

_Your best friend who’s in fucking love with you._

“Exactly! Thank you. Even though you’re a Gumby looking motherfucker.”

Yeah. It was going to hurt like a motherfucker to break this off.

But honestly, when it first started, they should have like, given it an expiration date. How could they have expected it to go on forever. That was just stupid. It was good while it lasted. That’s how he had to look at things.

He wouldn’t, of course, but it _was_ a nice thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rubs hands evilly* we're getting there


	17. the lakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's only a matter of time, Greg knows, before he's going to have to end things between them, but he'll make it through the weekend upstate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the lakes does not have to go as hard as it does. Taylor really did that huh?

Sometimes Tom did things, said things, brought him places that made Greg wonder if maybe he felt the same way.

He knew that was wishful thinking. It had to be. 

Because he’d seen movies and TV shows, and just because the guy you were hooking up with took you out of town, it did not mean love. It usually meant that he was trying to make sure nobody saw you together. It was secretive and kinda of scummy and it was the farthest thing from love.

But, since Greg was running out of the ability to keep the whole “love” thing hidden, he was determined to suck up as much as he could of the time he had left. Tom didn’t love him, and that was fine, but once he told him, they would have to end. 

That was something he was sure of. He wasn’t exactly sure _when_ he would give up on hiding it, but it was going to be soon. Very soon. Though, he’d be able to make it through the weekend out of town. He knew that much. 

The last thing he wanted to do was sit awkwardly in a house out of town for several days. Tom might be mad, and Greg would have to sleep in the car and he was way too tall to sleep in the car.

Tom hadn’t actually told him in advance that they were going out of town, he had just come over and said that he was going upstate for the long weekend and if Greg would like to come, then he should pack his shit because they were leaving the next morning.

Maybe if Greg hadn’t been planning on ending things, maybe if he hadn’t been desperate for the time they had left, maybe then he would have said no, because that was way too much like romance and dating and shit.

But he didn’t say no, he agreed, and that’s how they ended up in some rich people’s lake house upstate. Greg had to specify that it was a rich person house, because despite it being called a cottage on the website, it had little actual cottage properties, and was mostly a McMansion lake house.

“I’m sure it’s a popular destination for people with arrangements like ours,” Tom said, when they pulled into the drive, just as Greg realized that his definition of lake house was not the same as the affluent definition of lake house, “Stop staring.”

“Sorry,” Greg muttered, “It’s just uh, very large? And much nicer than I expected.”

“That’s because you’re incredibly _bad_ at having money. It’s so obvious you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah,” Greg chuckled, “I guess so.”

He almost felt like he was doing something bad, agreeing to this when he knew it was only a matter of time before he ended this. But that didn’t stop him from agreeing in the first place, and he’d long since decided that a good person wouldn’t have started this in the first place. 

A good person would have broken it off once they crossed the line into real feeling territory. Maybe a good person wouldn’t have ever agreed to this in the first place. Would have told Tom no, because he was married, and Greg didn’t want to get involved. 

But Greg hadn’t done any of those things, so it seemed unlikely he was a good person. 

Sometimes, Greg would watch Tom do things-- not in a creepy way, in a purely observational and scientific way-- and he would think that Tom belonged somewhere else. That he wasn’t meant for the hard environment of the corporate world. Everybody was so Goddamn _mean_ to each other. And sure, maybe it was just their company, but he was pretty sure some of the shit he’d seen would have been enough to make anybody want to lose their minds. And sure, maybe Tom just really was that much of an asshole but he had seen the other, softer side of Tom and that was the side Greg wanted to drag away someone kinder. 

He needed the money— and he wouldn’t lie. He liked the money. And he needed the job, but sometimes Greg wanted _out._

And even though he had no right to, he wanted to take Tom with him. Live somewhere like this. Well, less gaudy and less pricey, but somewhere quiet where there were no corporate scandals or cutthroat politics or criminal coverups, and where you didn’t have to be so defensive and ambitious. 

Maybe he should ask Tom if he remembered the bed and breakfast idea, from back before this whole thing started. Ask if he was in any way serious, because if Tom was down, so was he.

(But, of course, Tom had not been serious. Tom had just been frustrated. It would have been actually stupid to ask Tom about it now.)

And it was a pipe dream anyway, to get out of New York and disappear. He was _way_ too involved now.

“Earth to Greg,” Tom said, and Greg jumped, since Tom was now on his side, leaning down, and arm across the open door, “Where’d you go?”

“Just uh, thinking,” he said, “Sorry.”

Tom backed up so he could get out, and he rolled his shoulders. He was pretty stiff from sitting in the car for so long, but Tom wouldn’t let him drive. There was a slight chill in the air, though he wondered how much of it came from the fact that he was slightly terrified of what he was doing. This was all wrong.

“Come get your shit,” Tom called, “I’m not your caddy.”

He picked up his backpack and flung it over his shoulder. Tom didn’t wait for him, and Greg followed him, several steps behind. 

“Oh yeah,” Tom called approvingly from the front porch, “This is nice.”

Greg followed him inside, dumping his bag on the stairs. It really was beautiful. Big picture windows, tall ceilings, and expensive looking furniture. Greg poked around, found the wrap around porch, the view of the lakes. The kitchen was spotless, and he ran a hand over the marble counter.

“I sort of thought,” Tom said, sauntering into the kitchen. He realized then he had no idea where Tom had gone, he’d been so caught up with the incredibly clean counters, “That you would have found your way upstairs by now. You playing hard to get? How coy.”

Greg laughed weakly. He thought it sounded slightly insane. Tom frowned at him. 

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Greg shook his head, “I’m fine.”

Tom’s frown deepened. He came into the kitchen and stood in front of Greg. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked again, “You never shut up, and you haven’t said more than ten words since this morning. Did I- I mean, did I do something?”

“No,” Greg said, “I’m just pretty tired I guess. It was a long drive.”

He could see it way too easily. He and Tom in some nice little place up in the mountains, or maybe even on the coast somewhere, quiet and peaceful and away from everything. It was so romantic and he _desperately_ wanted it. They’d wake up with each other in the morning, and maybe Greg could get the recipes from Tom’s mother, the one’s he liked the most and surprise him. They would probably be awful but it wouldn’t matter. Like Tom had said, they’d never even turn on ATN and they could have a nice porch, like this one, where you could see the stars at night, silent and clear, so different from a night in Manhattan. Tom would never have anywhere else to be or anyone else to see. It would be good.

It would be _thiers._

But again. A pipe dream. He shouldn’t have even gone to New York in the first place. Maybe he could have had a nice, normal romance. There’d be no sneaking, or weird mind games or the need to be so verbally aggressive all the time.

What must that be like?

“Are you lying to me?” Tom asked, quietly, almost, _almost_ antagonisticly. They were standing very close, Tom’s hand on his waist, “Because I really don’t think you want to do that.”

“No,” Greg said, “I’m not lying.”

He was tired. That was true. He was lying by omission, yeah, but like, what he was saying was true. He’d be fine, put on a happy face. 

“Can I do something?” Tom asked, his tone shifting from slightly aggressive to caring in the blink of an eye. This was the Tom he’d really fallen in love with. Not the bickering, the weirdly mean flirting. All of that was fine, but _this_ Tom, the one who was kind, and brought him a hangover breakfast, and took care of him when he was sick, and who seemed to worry about him when he was acting off. This was the Tom he knew and loved. This was the Tom that was hidden under a hundred layers of other shit for his own protection, but sometimes he let Greg have a peek inside. Just a quick one, before it was zippered back up and hidden away.

“Would it be, uh,” Greg considered his words, “Would it be, like, too weird if I asked you to just like hold me for a few minutes here?”

Tom didn’t respond right away and stared at him. Greg focused on his own heavy breathing. 

“No,” Tom wrapped his arms around him, “No, it wouldn’t be too weird.”

“Thanks.”

He’d sunk down slightly, while leaning against the counter, and they were almost the same height. 

“Whatever is bothering you,” Tom said softly and incredibly sincerely, “You know you can tell me right? I mean, if you’re in trouble, or if you did something. You know you can trust me. I’m not gonna be mad or whatever. If you messed up or whatever. Just tell me. I’d rather you told me.”

“I know,” Greg said, “There’s nothing. Maybe I’m just having, like, a bad mental health day. You know how important mental health is right? That’s probably what it is.”

“Sure,” Tom said, smiling, “Maybe the fresh air will help. It’s very invigorating.”

“Probably.”

But Greg knew it wouldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	18. death by a thousand cuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Breakup(TM)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i sad myself Sad writing this lmao

Greg knew, with little doubt, he was about to fuck absolutely everything up. 

He knew it. How could it now fuck it all up? But the act of keeping everything locked up, keeping it hidden deep inside was physically painful. It was getting worse.

He kept hoping he might just, like, fall _out_ of love, but instead he was just getting deeper and deeper into it, and at some point, it wasn’t even going to be worth trying to climb back out.

The lake trip had only made it more certain that this was what he had to do. It was the right thing to do. It was just going to suck.

It was all planned out. Tom would come over. Greg would sit him down, maybe at the table, so there was space between them. Greg couldn’t trust himself to be too close. He would tell Tom he wanted to speak to him, he would tell him how he felt, then he would quit his job. It would be simple. He couldn’t very well continue to work, now that Tom knew. It would be torture. Quitting would be torture too, but it was the right thing. Greg had done so much _bad_ since coming to New York, but this was the right choice.

There was a knock on the door. Greg almost dropped his glass, but managed to save it. He downed the last bit of his drink for some confidence, and set it in the sink.

“Hey,” Tom called, “Where are you?”

“In the kitchen,” he replied. Holding out a hand, he saw he was just as shaky as he felt, and so he quickly jammed his hands in his pocket, “Come here for a sec?”

Tom poked his head in and smiled, “Hey. What’s up?”

“I was hoping we could talk,” Greg nodded towards the table and after a moment, Tom sat, frowning, “I need to talk to you.”

“There’s not a body in the back we have to hide is there? What’s another felony?” Tom joked, but Greg couldn’t find it in him to laugh, “Not funny? Alright.”

Greg sat down. He fidgeted for a moment before deciding to clasp his hands in front of him. He was antsy and nervous, and wanted nothing more than to pretend it was no big deal and get Tom to take him to the bedroom like nothing was wrong.

“You’re going to be mad,” Greg said, “Probably. But like, I just want to tell you that I’m in love with you?”

“You’re what?” Tom’s voice was quiet, almost nervous. Greg felt his heartbeat in his throat, felt his stomach drop, “What did you say?”

“I’m in love with you. I know that I’m not supposed to be, but like honestly? Keeping it inside is giving me, like, anxiety? And the internet says it’s bad to repress stuff like that so I’m telling you.”

“Since when?”

Greg noticed a stain on the table. It looked like wine maybe. He scratched at it lightly with one finger but it didn’t come up, “Remember when you bought me those new sheets? You sent them over.”

“Yes.”

“Then.”

“Since _then_? Fuck off. That was ages ago.”

Greg shrugged. He wanted to look up, but didn’t think he could bear it, “Yeah. Since then. And like, now you know. I know it’s pretty bad. I tried not to. I just sucked at it.”

“You’re in love with me,” Tom said. Greg glanced up, but couldn’t read Tom’s face. He didn’t look angry, but he didn’t exactly look thrilled either, “No shit?”

“And like, I’m going to quit my job too. Like, this is my two weeks notice I guess? Because I physically don’t think I can continue to work for you now? I think that I will actually go crazy. And I also think it’d be weird for us to work, now that you know.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

Greg shook his head, “I do though. I thought I could keep it with no strings attached but I can’t. So, I’m telling you how I feel. Sorry.”

Tom didn’t reply. Greg didn’t really know if he _wanted_ a reply. Which was worse? The silence or whatever he was surely thinking?

“And I want you to know that I have loved every second of this. I know that’s probably really fucked up to say. Cause we’ve been literally having an affair and you’re Shiv’s husband and there’s a lot of shit in play, but it’s been so good. And I would, well I would do it again. But I can’t keep going like this, I can’t. I mean it, I think I’m going to explode. That’s not even, like, an exaggeration.”

“Are you,” Tom frowned at him, “are you _breaking up_ with me? Like for real?”

“I mean I guess?” Greg said, “I don’t want to but I think I have to. I’m sorry Tom, I really am. But I can’t be your, like, mistress anymore. I think it’s killing me. I can’t do it. Not while you’re married, not while you see me as just a hookup.”

Tom crossed his arms. Greg was willing to take whatever he was going to dish out. It was Greg who had broken the agreement, Greg who had fallen in love, Greg who hadn’t been able to keep things unattached. He prepared himself for Tom to chuck the empty coffee cup on the table across the room, or to scream at him or to do _something_ but look at him calmly.

“Well that’s that then,” Tom said quietly, and Greg really thought he might honest to God start to cry if Tom said anything else, “I should go.”

“Probably,” Greg said, “I am sorry. I know it’s not fair. But I couldn’t help it.”

Tom ran a hand over his face. Tapped his fingers on the table. Didn’t stand up, but didn’t speak yet.

Greg knew he should ask Tom to leave. Should tell him that he was serious, and that he wasn’t going to make this any harder than it was already. He already made plans to purge everything from this from this life. He was already ruining his own life by falling in love, no one else’s life needed to be ruined.

“Is this why you were acting like a fucking freak when we were upstate?”

“Yeah. I felt like, kinda bad about it.”

“I thought you’d started fucking someone else and didn’t know how to tell me. I don’t know if that would have been worse. I thought those were going to be the words out of your mouth just now.”

Greg shrugged, “No. It wasn’t that. It was _never_ that.”

“Well fuck me then,” Tom said, “I suppose that’s that. Couldn’t have kept it a secret just a little longer huh? One more night?”

“I tried,” Greg replied, “I really did. I know. I wish it could be different but I’m not going to ask you to feel the same way. I just didn’t want to keep it from you anymore. It makes me feel bad to keep that from you. I’m sorry.”

“I should go,” Tom said again. He stood up, and came around to Greg’s side, pressed a very light kiss to his forehead. Greg shut his eyes. He heard Tom walk into the other room, heard the door open and shut. 

He really wished it could have gone better. Cause it sort of felt like he’d just stabbed himself in the fucking heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	19. the story of us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg tries to ride out his last two weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> halfway through posting these! i hope you continue to enjoy!

Despite his two week’s notice, Greg still had to go to work. 

The whole quitting thing was still on the downlow, though he had expected Tom to have made it known. He couldn’t figure out for sure why that wasn’t the case. 

(Actually, he thought maybe Tom didn’t want him to quit, that’s why he wasn’t telling anyone, but Greg was intent on keeping things professional. But that was a guess more than anything.)

And like it even fucking mattered at this point. They were so far out of the bounds of a professional boss-employee relationship, he wasn’t sure why he was suddenly bothering. 

Tom was good about not talking to him. Or looking at him. Or even acknowledging him. He stopped asking Greg for things, and Greg spent most of his time browsing Linkedin and Facebook and hoping he’d be able to find a new job. Like someone would magically drop a job on his lap that paid well and would let him in with a single interview.

(Though, to be honest, he wasn’t exactly sure what he’d say when they asked why he left his previous position. He’d have to come up with some vague shit for that. He didn’t even think he could put Tom down as a reference, so it really didn’t seem to matter.)

He knew he probably shouldn’t dick around in his last weeks, but nobody seemed to be paying him that much attention, and so he just sort of appeared where he was supposed to be, and spent his time trying to figure out if it would have been better to just keep his mouth shut and sucked it up.

The meeting wrapped up, though given Greg’s lack of attention, he only knew because people were leaving. He quickly exited out of his tab, so no one would glance at it, and shuffled some papers around, to make it look as if he had been productive. 

Now _this_ was performative. 

He heard Tom speak, ask someone to run some numbers for him, and he dared a glance over. Tom wasn’t even looking at him and it stung. He felt like he was living out a fucking tragedy. He busied himself scribbling in his notebook, looking incredibly occupied. It wasn’t like he thought Tom was going to talk to him. 

He was pretty certain that Tom was never going to speak to him again.

And that was for the best but _Goddamn_ if it didn’t hurt. 

For the most part, things Greg wanted were very straightforward. He wanted a job. He wanted to be able to afford food, and rent, and wanted to work his way up in the company’s good graces. They were simple things, things everybody wanted, everybody needed. And yes, some of his tactics had been less than respectable, less than legitimate, but if working at Waystar had taught him anything, it was that his shit was _nothing_ compared to the way things worked there.

But now what he wanted was absolutely unattainable. And like, he knew that going into this. It couldn’t be a fairy tale ending, or some cheesy shit like that. It was bound to end in flames, and maybe Greg had just sucked all the oxygen out of the room so the fire had nowhere to go and fizzled out before it could burn anyone. 

And for one he was the adult. That was the adult decision to make. Not the stupid fucking lovestruck teenager he’d been playing.

He looked up again.

It was the wrong thing to do. Tom caught his eye and Greg felt himself flush. Felt like he wanted to fucking die on the spot. 

But Greg didn’t want to look away first, and instead made some weird fucking eye contact until Tom left the board room. After a moment to compose himself, Greg shoved his things into a rough pile and stood up.

He couldn’t really discern Tom’s look. He didn’t seem like he wanted to murder Greg violently, but he didn’t look happy, didn’t look upset, didn’t seem like much of anything. Like a robot or like Invasion of the fucking Body Snatchers pod person Tom or something. What the hell was that about? How could he be so damn calm when Greg felt like the fucking blob? 

That didn’t seem fair.

It was Greg who had done the actual breaking up. Greg who had made the choice. He could have kept the act up, this wouldn’t have even been an issue. It was Tom who should have been all fucked up over it.

But that was just childish and petty. It was vindictive and stupid. They were not normal, he couldn’t have expected a normal post break up dynamic. Nothing about what he and Tom had been doing was remotely a normal, average relationship. 

He sighed, and left the room. The last thing he needed was someone looking in and seeing him sitting alone at the board room table. That was pathetic.

Well, he amended, the last thing he needed was _Tom_ looking in and seeing him sitting alone at the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	20. interlude: the last time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom muses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy emmys day!

It was absolutely Goddamn fucking ridiculous that he was as upset as he was. 

Because Greg was the one who had done the mature, adult thing. _Greg!_ When he had realized that their arrangement agreement had been broken, he’d eventually ended it. And Tom really couldn’t even blame him. He was so desperate to be angry, to have shouted, or something, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be mad. He wanted to blame Greg but he couldn’t find it in him to do so.

Greg was right. It wasn’t fair to him for them to continue seeing each other if Tom saw it as a hookup and Greg wanted more. There was a fundamental difference in their idea of their relationship there, and Tom was all too familiar with that shit to have been mad at Greg.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t fucking hurt. The dancing around each other in the office-- and yes, Tom knew that he was probably being more of an asshole than he needed to be by pretending that Greg was invisible. But he didn’t know exactly what was best. This was brand new territory for him.

After he’d left Greg’s, he had wandered for a bit, pretty stupidly too, wandering with no real sense of where he was going, until he finally turned his brain back on and stalked home. Because it was fine, it wasn’t like Tom had been the one to fuck up and fall in love. He could just find someone else. That would be that. 

Only that was definitely not that, because he couldn’t stop thinking about Greg. And that had to mean something. 

The two weeks would be up soon, and unless he started actively stalking Greg, they would not see each other, and he wasn’t exactly ready to commit to criminal means. If he was going to act, he needed to do it soon. He knew Greg was just fucking around at work, but he had no intentions of stopping him, not when it meant he could see him everyday. But he also knew the day two weeks and a day hit, Greg would just stop showing up.

It was all so confusing. Because there were several things he knew for certain. He knew that he loved Shiv. He had for a long while now-- he wouldn’t have married her if he didn’t. He also knew that their definitions of what they wanted out of the marriage were drastically different. Sometimes he wondered if it would have been different if she had told him sooner. Would he have been so bothered if there had been more time to adjust to the idea before they actually signed off on the whole thing? 

There was no way to really know. All he knew was that it hadn’t been that way. So what was the use of wondering?

The thing though, was that when he thought about it, he and Shiv were married in the legal sense of the word only. They were rarely home at the same time, they hardly shared their feelings anymore. Divorce was a messy word, and when he thought about it-- well he wanted to go to Greg’s and listen to his stupid musings on politics, or drink his shitty coffee and let Greg take his mind off the subject. 

He supposed you could love two people at the same time. Because he didn’t think he could just give up his feelings for Shiv, but he also thought that maybe Greg was onto something. He’d been strict with himself. The arrangement with Greg was strictly no strings attached. He hadn’t worried about it because he was _already_ in love with someone.

But Shiv was right. Love was complicated. More so than he’d ever really considered before. 

And Greg might tell him to fuck off, and then that would solve the problem. Lots could have happened in the days that had passed. If he showed up and Greg shut the door in his face-- or even worse didn’t even open it in the first place-- then Tom would not try again. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have left in the first place, but Greg’s declaration had hit him like a fucking freight train and leaving seemed like the best option. He didn’t have the brain power to think critically. It was terrifying and getting _out_ so he could breathe and think was the easiest solution.

(Why people were always blindsiding him with things, he didn’t know.)

And he still wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to say when he got there. _If_ he was allowed inside. He supposed he could say it on from the doorway, but that seemed awfully public. And whatever came out of his mouth might have been embarrassing. He was going to wing it. 

That was a bad idea. But he was going to do it anyway.

There were several things he would like to say. He’d like to say that he was sorry for leaving, he was sorry for the way he’d been acting, and that he loved Greg too, but it was hard for him to understand that and things were very complicated.

Maybe he’d get it out. Maybe he wouldn’t. But regardless, this would be it. If this went to hell in a handbasket then that was that. No one could say he hadn’t tried. Not even himself. He’d have to be content with the attempt.

But what did he want from this? A fucking marriage? Greg to be the one he loved til death do us part? A house together? There was so _much_ that he didn’t know. Maybe Greg had started to hate him. Maybe he’d put up a picture of Tom and threw darts at it. Maybe he wouldn’t even be there, the apartment would be empty, and again, the problem would have solved itself. 

(And he had been right. It was very hard to walk this route now that things had ended. Especially since he was dreading this conversation.)

What was he going to _say?_

Sorry I was a dick? Truth is, I love you and it scares the shit out of me? I love you but I’m worried that I’m going to ruin myself over it? I love you and if you’ve moved on I don’t know what I’m going to do?

It seemed kind of… manipulative? 

(He would be on the defense, he knew, even though he was trying not to be so bad about that anymore.)

But it was way too late to back out now. He was almost there, and he’d done enough cowardly shit in his life. 

And what sealed it, really, was how badly he wanted to call Greg and tell him he was coming over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you!


	21. this is me trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom shows up at Greg's. They talk it over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so much to say! the emmys last night!!! I cried when Jeremy won! if you guys watched what did you think of them? i think all things considered they did a good job with what they had and i was so excited to see succession win! 
> 
> following up the only way i can really describe this is if mr darcy were about twice as loud, slightly manic, significantly more unhinged, and allowed to say fuck.

There was a knock on the door. 

Greg paused, glanced up from his laptop-- his job search still wasn’t going very well anyway-- and he looked at the door. He realized after a moment that he was trying to figure out who it was by staring at it, like he had x-ray vision or something. 

Actually, he didn’t need to be fucking Superman to know that whoever it was was someone he didn’t want to see. 

He got up, carefully, and looked through the peephole. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, and pulled the door open.

“Can we talk?” Tom asked. He bounced on his heels, and peered past Greg, silently asking to be invited in, like a fucking vampire or something. Greg stepped back.

He watched Tom walk into the center of the room, watched him rub the back of his neck. He should have closed the door, maybe not even opened it in the first place actually. 

Why did Greg feel the need to torture himself? Was he really a glutton for punishment?

“I uh,” Tom frowned, and put his hands on his hips. Greg shut the door and leaned against it. The more space between them the better, “I know you probably don’t want to see me.”

Greg shrugged. That was entirely untrue. He wanted nothing more than to see Tom, but that wasn’t what he should want. It was best to remain entirely neutral about the entire situation.

“But I’ve been thinking. About what you said. About our little arrangement we had. And just, this whole thing,” Tom frowned, “What I’m trying to tell you is that I can’t get you off my fucking mind. And it’s annoying. It’s really driving me crazy.”

“I uh-”

“I know you think you need to talk but you don’t,” Tom held up a hand to stop him, “And maybe it was just that I couldn’t believe what you said. Because I do love Shiv. I do. She’s strong and ambitious, and cut throat and smart and she gets what she wants, but I think I’ve realized that I’m not what she wants. That my definition of love doesn’t match up with hers like I thought it did. I mean. This fucking _family_ man.”

“Yeah,” Greg chuckled, “It’s pretty crazy.”

“Here’s the truth. Hand to God,” Tom sighed, “I love you too. If you can believe it. And that’s fucking _hard_ for me to admit because honestly Greg? I’m afraid of getting my heart eaten. So I think what I’m asking you is if you would like to try again.”

_Oh._

“What, like, us?” Greg would have bet money on the opposite of this happening honestly, “I thought you were coming here to yell at me.”

Tom ran a hand over his face, “Here’s the deal. I love you. But if you want me to fuck off, honestly, I deserve it. You’ve got my entire heart on a platter Greg, so if you want to throw it out the window, I wouldn’t blame you. And this is embarrassing so if you’d hurry up, that’d be great.”

“I mean yeah. Yeah,” Greg said, “You mean it?”

“You’re _really_ gonna make me say it again? What, you want it in a fucking letter? Carved into my chest?” Tom shook his head, “The past months, you and I? It’s been so good. You were there, you listened to me, and treated me like, well, like someone you liked being around, like a partner, a team. I don’t know. I didn’t feel like there was some kind of underlying condition there. And this is so cheesy or whatever, but I didn’t realize it until I wanted to call you to tell you I was coming over, just cause I missed being around you. It’s fucking romantic. Don’t make me say it again because I hate it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Tom sighed and nodded, “Really. So, you gonna eat my heart or what?”

“No man,” Greg shook his head, “That’s- that’s really nice.”

“ _Nice_? Fucking hell Greg.”

“No I mean. Yeah, of course. But like you’re serious?” 

“Yeah. I am. I know there’s a lot of… complications with that. But honestly, I don’t think I care anymore. The way you make me feel, about myself, and us, and everything. It’s what I want. And I don’t usually really get what I want.”

“No I get that.”

“So I think,” Tom nodded, “I think that we should just go for it. I mean, I don’t know. You can say no and you can tell me to go to hell.”

“Oh no,” Greg shook his head quickly, “No no I don’t want that. I want what you’re saying. I just honestly, I kind of expected you to start shouting at me or something. Maybe throw something. I wasn’t sure.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Tom smiled, “I’ve been kind of an asshole to you. My therapist says it's a defense mechanism.”

“Oh you got a therapist? That’s probably good,” Greg said, then winced. That was a dumb thing to say. Like, obviously it was a good thing. Tom knew that, he didn’t need Greg to tell him.

“Yeah,” Tom chuckled, “Finally right? 

“That’s good. Good healthy coping mechanism.”

“Greg are you going to kiss me or are you just going to stand there like a fucking art piece? I’m telling you that I’m in love with you. _Please_ , for the love of God, don’t just stand there.”

“Oh right,” Greg pushed himself off the wall, strode into the room as well, “Sorry. Still kinda working through this.”

Tom laced their fingers together. Greg wondered if he was holding his breath or not. He couldn’t tell. This felt like a fairy tale ending or something. It seemed literally impossible. How Greg had come out of this with something he wanted, how none of the absolutely terrible endings he had envisioned had ended up being the one. And yeah, there were still problems, still things standing in their way, but Greg was pretty sure he could handle it. Besides, he didn’t have to keep it shoved down anymore. That had to be a good thing.

“Are you going to, I mean, tell Shiv?”

“Mmm,” Tom frowned and considered this, “Yes. I mean, she knows there’s someone. She _has_ to. She’s smart. But I suppose I will have to tell her. We’ve been, more like roommates than anything else for a bit now.”

“She might be kinda angry.”

“Possibly. I don’t know. I want her to be happy, I’m sure she wants that for me. It’s difficult. But can we not talk about that right now and instead can we just kiss and make up?”

“Yeah,” Greg chuckled, “We can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always. an inordinate amount of fluff incoming. and look it's not actually unrequited love. what was i gonna do? not put the italicized "oh"?


	22. everything has changed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg redefine their little arrangement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know about you but i'm feeling 22

“I think,” Tom began when he returned from the kitchen. Greg muted the TV and sat up straighter, “That we should renegotiate the terms of our relationship.”

“Ok. I mean, that sounds, like, really corporate. I don’t really know what it means.”

“Well,” Tom sat down in the chair and flung an arm over the back, “Now that we’re… _together_ and there’s emotions involved we should probably figure out what that means. Like in terms of exclusivity and definitions, and publicity. That’s going to have to come eventually. It’s good to have this conversation now.”

“Oh,” Greg frowned, “I’ve never actually had to do this and so I don’t actually know what to say. But I think maybe you want me to tell you that I’m interested in monogamy. So like yeah. I’m good.”

Tom sighed, “I can’t believe you’re so stupid and I love you so much.”

Greg didn’t try to hide his blush now. It made Tom laugh, but he knew that Tom wasn’t making fun of him or anything. It was still, like, the honeymoon phase. And now he didn’t care so much, what Tom saw. 

(Although, he was still frightened that Tom would get tired of him, and would realize that he wasn’t interested in the Greg who was bad at relationships and probably clingy and annoying on top of that. That Tom would finally give up and walk out, for good this time. That Greg would finally do the thing, whatever it was, that was just too much for him to deal with anymore.)

“I suppose that settles that issue?” Greg asked hopefully.

Tom chuckled, “I suppose so.”

“I still think you should tell Shiv,” he said suddenly after a moment of quiet. Since Tom had shown up, since their little kiss and make up session, her name had not been brought up, but it was obvious that if they were going to turn the affair into an actual relationship, she would have to know. And he really thought it should come from Tom. He was pretty sure Tom knew that too, but he wanted to make sure.

He nodded, “I know. I will. I don’t- I don’t know. I think maybe she knows. She can tell. I just don’t want to hurt her.”

“No no, of course not.” Greg crossed and then uncrossed his legs. This was somehow still a deeply uncomfortable situation, despite the fact that he had exactly what he wanted. Freely! No scheming or work involved. Tom had returned to him apparently of his own free will, “I mean I wouldn’t want that either.”

“So we have to discuss everything beforehand,” Tom leaned forward in the chair, “Have it all buttoned up. So we’re on the same page, you and I.”

“Yeah that makes sense. I mean,” Greg shifted in his seat, “After, like, covering up a felony, this isn't even that bad. This is like the _least_ bad thing you have ever gotten me involved in.”

“I’d love to argue, but you’ve actually just made kind of a fair point.”

“So the first step is what? Tell Shiv?”

Tom nodded, “I will. But what do I tell her? What are we? Dating? Going steady?”

“Dating uh, dating sounds nice,” Greg said, hating absolutely everything about that statement. He knew it sounded dumb, and he braced himself for Tom’s response. 

“Dating sounds nice?” Tom replied mockingly, “Jesus. How about I just tell her we went to the prom together? That we fucked in the back of my car after?”

“I don’t know.”

Tom sighed. He leaned forward all the way now and took one of Greg’s hands. This was some Jane Austen shit for certain. Tom touched his hand and he wanted to pass out. What the hell was that about? 

“It’s alright,” Tom said quietly, “That was a little cruel.”

“It’s alright,” Greg replied, “But what will you tell her? Cause I’m not trying to be murdered by the Roy family over this.”

“I think that I will just tell her the truth. What I told you. There’s going to be a lot. She might be mad. But I’m going to tell her that I love you.”

“Sounds good,” he said, “Do you think I should come? Do you think she might, like, actually kill me?”

“Mm,” Tom considered this for a moment, “Maybe. Actually maybe. Probably not. But maybe.”

“Ok that’s not really an answer, that doesn’t actually make me feel less worried about being murdered? It actually makes me a little _more_ worried?”

“It’s fine. Would I let you get murdered?”

“Maybe?”

“You wound me. Listen,” he sighed, “The thing is, that we’re not going to hide this anymore. Not like this. You’ve put up with enough of that.”

“I mean it’s fine.”

“No,” Tom shook his head, “Please I’m admitting that I was in the wrong. You won’t hear it again.”

Greg laughed, and after a moment Tom did too. It all seemed so incredibly unreal. He was still thinking maybe this was his imagination, and he was still thinking that Tom was just saying shit, when Tom leaned forward and kissed him, gently.

“Whatever is going to happen might be bad,” Tom said, frowning as he did so, “But what matters to me is that I love you. Do you believe me when I say that?

Greg nodded. He really did. Honest to God he believed it. And maybe that in itself was a shitty mistake. Maybe this was still going to explode in his face, but when Tom said it, Greg believed him, and he wanted nothing more than for it to be true.

“It’ll be a thing,” Tom said, “But I’m not too worried. I’m not asking her for a divorce. Not yet at least.”

He eyes Greg, like he was waiting for anger or something but Greg only nodded. He had a growing suspicion that Tom was also waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under him, that Greg would grow tired of being treated like the other woman, like a hookup or whatever, while Tom had a wife at home. And maybe he should have minded but he really, really, didn’t.

“That’s alright. You don’t have to do that. I mean like, why start now?”

Tom rolled his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	23. lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg face their biggest challenge yet: An IKEA dresser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promised u fluff and i have begun to deliver.

The dynamics between them had been drastically altered, and there wasn’t a day that went by where Greg wasn’t amazed by that fact.. 

Usually, that would have meant bad things, but this was good. Great, actually. Amazing. Because Tom _loved_ him. It felt like a fever dream, like something he’d made up. He would wake up and the world would be grayer or emptier or something but at least it’d be, like, realistic. 

It had gone, all things together, pretty well with Shiv. There had been a fight, Greg knew there would be, but Tom had still left, and declared that was that. So now he lived there. Full time. It was weird. It was really fucking weird. Way too romantic. 

Right now though, this was just _domestic._ This was some married shit. 

“Greg, give me the fucking instructions again will you?” Tom said, holding out his hand. Greg looked around, shoving boxes and styrofoam packaging until he found the instruction booklet, “I think we fucked it a few steps ago.”

“Here,” Greg went and handed the instructions over, “It doesn’t really look like a dresser.”

Tom glared up at him from his spot on the floor, “I don’t know why _you_ didn’t buy pre-assembled furniture, you piece of shit. And I don’t know why I’m the one that has to suffer for it.”

“IKEA is nice. It’s not that expensive,” Greg argued. He had an unopened package of nuts and bolts in his hand and was examining them carefully, “And like we can disassemble it when we move.”

“Or, try this one for size,” Tom shook his head and flipped through the booklet, “You can just hire a moving company to move furniture instead of this shit because that’s their job. I don’t know why you thought _I_ would be able to do this.”

“Still,” Greg knelt down as well, looking at the instructions over Tom’s arm, “It’s technically your fault.”

“My fault?” Tom looked at him, frowning, “How did you figure that one out?”

“Yeah like,” Greg smiled, “There’s no room for my shit, now that your shit is here.”

Tom smacked him with the instructions, “Asshole.”

“Yeah like, there’s no room,” Greg sat down now, and snatched the instructions. This level of friendship, of intimacy, of casualness was still new. He didn’t quite feel like he was walking on eggshells anymore, but he was still testing the waters. But the waters _were calmer now_. There wasn’t a fucking monsoon going on at the same time. Maybe one day they’d be still, “You own, like, a different tie for every day of the week, but they all look the same.”

“It’s called _fashion_. Give me that,” he took the book back, “You’re distracting me. You want a pile of wood in the bedroom or you want a dresser?”

“Sorry,” Greg smiled, “I’ll shut up. Where’d the mistake happen?”

“Here I think,” Tom pointed to one of the drawings, “I’m sure it’s your fault somehow. Where’s the Goddamn screwdriver?”

“Uhh,” Greg pushed a box over to look, “Here.”

They’d had to go to the hardware store, to buy tools, because Greg hadn’t considered that they owned no tools, and Tom had assumed Greg would buy an already made dresser. But now there were several brand new tools, just itching to be broken in on the most annoying dresser in the world, as Tom had dubbed it. 

“Next time,” Tom said, picking the screwdriver up, and unscrewing several pieces, “We’re going together. Because I am not doing this for all the furniture. This is _incredibly_ tedious.”

“It’s, like, bonding. Haven’t you seen the videos of people fighting trying to put IKEA furniture together? It’s a test, to see if we can handle a relationship.”

“You’re kidding,” Tom frowned at him, “That sounds like shit you just pulled out of your ass.”

“No I’m serious. It’s a real test. The internet says so. I looked it up. When I was making coffee and deciding if you werere going to murder me over the number of pieces it came with. I was seeing if I was going to die.”

“Wonder if I could get out of that charge,” Tom said, holding the booklet out in front of him and trying to match things to the pictures, “I think the jury would be understanding.”

“This is the one I think,” Greg held out his bag, “The little ones.”

Tom took the bag and opened it, dumping them into the bowl they were using to keep the small pieces from getting lost. It had been several hours now since they started, and even though it was annoying and the odds of them finishing soon seemed slim, it was almost fun. 

(Wasn’t that just disgustingly romantic?)

“Yeah it’s these. Thanks. Will you get more coffee? I’d go but I am literally bonded to this dresser right now.”

“Oh yeah,” Greg pushed himself up off the floor, pausing to press a kiss to Tom’s cheek, “You want something stronger?”

“Oh desperately, but I don’t think this can be assembled sober, much less trashed.”

“Be right back,” Greg left, heard Tom curse at the dresser, and smiled. There was still half a pot of coffee left in the kitchen and he poured two mug’s worth, giving Tom the extra. He wasn’t sure when he had learned how Tom liked his coffee, but one day realized he’d never asked. 

And here they were putting fucking _furniture_ together, for a place they _shared_.

Greg knew it couldn’t last. There wasn’t a way they could live in New York like this for an extended period of time. But Goddamn it, a _home._ Like, that was some other level. It was one thing for Tom to spend nights there, but now it was permanent. Like what was next? A marriage? A house in the fucking suburbs? Two and a half kids and a white picket fence?

It seemed like a prank. It really did. 

“I can’t imagine you got lost finding the kitchen,” Tom called, “well I suppose maybe _you_ could.”

“I’ll be there in a second,” Greg called back. He was getting distracted again. He picked the coffees up, careful not to spill, and walked back.

The dresser remained mostly unfinished. It maybe resembled one, in the sense that the outline of a paper resembled the actual paper, but you wouldn’t hand it in for a grade. 

“I’m about to blow my fucking brains out,” Tom said, and Greg sat down next to him, “Thanks.”

“Did you mess up again?”

Tom glared at him, “Would you like to do this? I’d be more than happy to give you this joyous blue collar task.”

Greg laughed, at the ridiculousness of it all honestly. At Tom’s weirdly classist takes on IKEA furniture, and the fact that they were sitting on the floor surrounded by empty boxes and unassembled pieces of a dresser, and the fact that it was fucking dark out now. 

“What are you laughing at dipshit?” Tom pointed at him with the screwdriver.

It was distinctly non threatening. Almost comically non threatening. It made him laugh harder.

“Nothing,” Greg said, “It’s just like, you _suck_ at this. And I’m not sure why because it’s only supposed to take a couple of hours, and you kind run a fucking news network but you can’t put some drawers together.”

“Greg, if I wasn’t in fucking love with you I think I would kill you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	24. the lucky one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom makes a major life decision, and Greg tags along for the ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the lucky one is an underrated bop on red, which in itself, is an album of bops

“I just uh,” Tom began when he came inside. He’d been several hours late, and Greg was sort of wondering if he’d been hit by a car or something. He let the door slam behind him, “I just quit.”

“Like your _job?_ ”

“Uh-huh.”

“For- for a particular reason or?”

“Uh. Well,” Tom rubbed the back of his neck, “I didn’t actually think it through. I just sort of realized that it’s all so awful and fucked up. It was only a matter of time before I got fired anyway. And I don’t want to be there anymore. It’s that simple.”

Greg honestly hadn’t expected that. It made sense, but Tom didn’t seem the type to actually realize that.

“Then I should probably quit too, right?”

“You’re a big boy Gregory,” Tom patted him lightly on the cheek on the way to the kitchen, “You can do what you like. Please don’t fuck your new boss though. I’m clingy.”

“I mean, no offense man, cause that’s great because ATN _is_ pretty toxic but like can you afford to quit your job? Cause there’s a divorce and stuff.”

There was no official divorce yet, and Greg had no idea when or if that would come. He didn’t mind really, but he knew divorces were expensive, knew that there were probably a million terms spelled out in their prenup. 

“Honestly,” he watched Tom pour his drink, way more than you were supposed to, Greg thought, “No. But yes. I don’t know. Is this place in your name?”

“Kendall’s.”

“Huh,” Tom took a sip, “We could move in with my parents I suppose. They have the room. Just move in with mom and dad and live out that nice Midwestern fantasy. God, how embarrassing would that be.”

Greg hated how fucking giddy the word “we” made him feel. He was pretty sure he had kept it hidden though. 

“Yeah,” Greg nodded, “My mom might say yes. But she’d be annoyed about it. I’m gonna be real with you man, it’s probably only a matter of time before I get kicked out of here. Especially with everything that’s happened.”

“Maybe we _should_ move,” Tom said, glancing out the window. The sun was setting on Manhattan now, and oddly enough, Greg sort of felt like the sun was setting on him in general, “Fuck off to the country. Or upstate. The beach. Anywhere. Somewhere that doesn’t _get_ ATN. Far away.”

“The bed and breakfast.”

Tom laughed, “You remember that?”

“Yeah. I thought about asking you about it sooner. But I knew you were just dicking around.”

“I was,” Tom frowned, “But I’m not anymore. Could you realistically live on a middle class income?”

“Dude, like, yeah.”

“I just think I want out. Out of New York, out of the fucking sphere of influence of the Roys. Just get _out_.”

They fell silent for a bit. Greg had to admit that Tom was right. Ever since he’d come to New York he’d been jerked around by people, he’d sucked up to people to get little in return. Maybe Tom was right and they should just escape while they were at least marginally ahead. Just disappear. There was probably enough in the bank, they could get somewhere small. It’d just be the two of them anyway. 

There wasn’t much dignity left, but they could scrape by. He was pretty sure they could, if Tom wasn’t just talking, and actually meant it. 

This seemed way different from what Greg had thought he wanted. Mostly that was money. The job had been nice too. This wasn’t what he came to New York for. But this was what he wanted now.

“You’re serious about this?” Greg asked. He had to check, because he was _pretty_ sure but he wasn’t certain. 

“Uh huh,” Tom nodded, and looked at him over the glass, “Deadly.”

“But like,” Greg ran a hand through his hair, “Could we though? Fucking run off together?”

“Don’t make it sound like Romeo and Juliet. It’s just… it is.”

“No like I get that. But that’s, I mean, that’s technically what this is,” he said, “Like that’s- that’s pretty romantic.”

“Well might as well give it a shot. Went to shit the first time.”

Greg didn’t respond. He didn’t know how honestly. He tried his best not to comment, not to form an opinion on Tom’s marriage or any of the things Tom did because God knew Greg had done bad things. Greg had schemed and he was far from innocent. Even if none of that had happened, he’d still let Tom hook up with him while he was married. He had absolutely no right to an opinion on that shit.

“What?” Tom asked, “You’re looking at me funny.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. What’s up?”

“It’s just weird. I keep thinking you’re going to, like, pull the rug out from under me. Like, you’re just fucking with me.”

“Jesus Christ, and you said _I_ needed therapy. That’s some hardcore self esteem issues.”

“Well to be fair, like, this is kind of new for me still.”

“I know,” Tom sighed. He set his drink on the counter behind him and tugged on Greg’s shirt, pulling him forward, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry about it. Cause honestly, this isn’t worth apologizing for. It’s nice.”

“It’s been tough,” Tom said, nodding slightly, “It’s all been tough. But _maybe_ this can be good for us. It’s what we want to do isn’t it? Just run off and say fuck it to every single responsibility here. How’s that sound?”

“Pretty good.”

Greg put his head on Tom’s shoulder. He wouldn’t have done this without asking or being invited before, but even though he briefly thought Tom might make fun of him for showing this kind of emotion, he remembered things were different now. He wanted to be-- fuck he didn’t what exactly. Reassured? Comforted? What were you supposed to want from the person you loved? Who said they loved you too. Whatever it was, that’s what he wanted. 

“Yeah,” Tom said. He felt fingers comb through his hair gently. It felt nice and calming, “I know. It’s alright. It’s _going to_ be alright.

“Do you think Shiv told Logan?”

“Probably,” Tom said, “I’m surprised you don’t have a hit out on you. Actually don’t stand so close to me in case you get shot by a sniper right now.”

“Dude!” 

“Sorry. I’m mostly kidding,” Tom chuckled, “I told you before. I’ll take care of you.”

“The last time you said that you got me involved in a massive corporate cover up and I thought I was going to go to federal prison forever.”

“Ah well, the second time’s a charm. Come on, what do you say to running away together? We’ll get a fucking beach house and drink only cheap cocktail mixes from the grocery store and you can work at the coffee shop and I’ll work retail and when people ask us where we moved from we’ll just lie everytime. Might be kind of fun.”

“It sounds nice Tom.”

And he meant it. It did sound nice. And he was pretty sure Tom meant it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> appreciate you as always!


	25. you belong with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg takes Tom home to meet his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all are asking for the fluff and i need you to know i tend to provide lol this nonsense is only going up

Although Greg originally had absolutely no plans to ever introduce Tom to his mother, it now seemed inevitable. They were, like, together now. This wasn’t a hookup, wasn’t an affair, wasn’t something that secret anymore. 

But when she had called and said, “bring him to dinner if it’s that serious,” Greg didn't know how to say no and besides he was pretty sure she was calling his bluff. His mother had plenty to be disappointed about when it came to him, and he just hoped Tom wouldn’t be another.

The thing was, he wanted her to like Tom. He did. He knew that this was still all pretty fucked, and in reality, he’d done nothing _but_ fuck up since she had told him to go to New York, but this was an adult thing right? To bring someone home to meet the parents? 

(But yeah, usually it was different. He’d have to give her that.)

“You don’t think she’s like, going to hate me do you?” Tom asked when they got to the door.

“Oh no,” Greg shook his head, “Like probably not.”

“So that’s what it feels like? When I say that?”

“She was mildly supportive when I told her about us,” Greg reasoned, “Like more so than I think most mothers would have been with that information.”

Tom didn’t look thrilled-- in fact he looked almost like he was going to be sick-- but Greg smiled. He was sort of excited to have just the slightest upper hand. He knew that really there was no need for Tom to be nervous. If his mother didn’t like Tom she wouldn’t be a bitch about it to his face. But seeing Tom all nervous was funny. 

“Hey,” he pushed the door open, “It’s us.”

His mother’s dog-- Ivy named so because she had been a Christmas present several years ago, when she was still a puppy-- sniffed at him halfheartedly, then jumped up on Tom to greet him. Tom lit up at the sight of the dog, and Greg felt himself smile as Ivy fawned over the new person in her life.

“In the kitchen,” Marianne called back. They had a silent argument on who would go first until Tom pushed him ahead.

“Hey,” he said again. She came over and he bent down to kiss her cheek, “Smells like really good in here. This is Tom.”

“Hello Mrs. Hirsch,” Tom said. He kissed both her cheeks, very formal. Greg smiled to himself. He wanted to tell Tom that she was no Logan Roy, that there was no need to pretend here, but it would just have to play out, “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“And you,” she smiled, “You’re much handsomer when you’re not testifying in front of the Senate.” 

“Thank you?”

“I’m just kidding. You two have a good drive? Sit down, I’ve got some wine. Greg?,” she said and when he didn’t move, she continued, “Don’t be rude, help your mother with the drinks.”

He left Tom at the table, with the dog, and followed his mother into the other room, where she pulled the nice glasses down onto the tray and waved her hand for him to pick out the wine.

“Yeah?” Greg asked hopefully. 

“We’ll see,” she smiled, and he popped open the bottle, “I’m surprised you brought him. I thought you’d be too embarrassed by it all.”

“I’m like, being a real proper adult now though,” he reasoned, “I mean. We’re talking about moving and everything.”

“Moving? Out of New York?”

Greg nodded, “Yeah.”

“You’re not falling back to before are you?” she glanced at him warily, “I’m not going to loan you money Greg, I mean it. Can you afford it? You shouldn’t rely on him.”

“No. It’s different.”

She was silent for a moment, looking him up and down. He shifted his weight awkwardly. She was trying to tell if he was bullshitting her or not, but he meant it. It was different, somehow and he needed her to see that. 

“I’m trusting you with this,” she finally said slowly, “Don’t prove me wrong.”

“No I know,” he nodded, “I’m like pretty sure this is a good idea.”

She dropped the subject, and they returned to the kitchen. His mother had pulled out all of the stops, and the conversation was mostly light until dinner was served. Tom had gone over in the car everything he shouldn’t mention, which included the Roys, Brightstar Cruises, cruises in general, ATN, Shiv, the affair, their current unemployment, and their little breakup. Greg had assured him that it wasn’t like that, that he could discuss whatever he wanted, but Tom was adamant in his list.

“Have you told Grandpa?” Greg asked. 

“About you two?” Marianne looked surprised, “I don’t know why I would have. It ought to come from you. Have you met my father Tom?”

“A few times. Very briefly. He’s, ah, very opinionated.”

Marianne laughed, “That’s true. But I think Greg might have become his favorite. Stealing Logan’s only daughter’s husband? He’ll never let his brother live that down. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

“I didn’t think about that,” Greg muttered, poking at his dinner. 

“So, Tom,” Marianne leaned forward slightly, and he watched Tom set down his wine, as if bracing for the questioning, “I suppose I ought to interrogate you. Is that my job as Greg’s mother?”

“Mom, come on,” Greg muttered, “Leave Tom alone.”

“It’s fine,” Tom shook his head, “I suppose it’s a mother’s job after all. Lay it on me.”

Greg glanced nervously between the two. He’d been unable to fully gage his mother’s opinions the entire evening, but he knew she had doubts. She had to. It wasn’t like he never made poor choices before. In fact, if he thought about it, she probably _should_ have reservations. 

“How can I be sure you’re not going to do to my son what you did to your wife?”

Greg nearly choked on his wine, “ _Mom?_ ”

“I suppose that’s a fair question,” Tom looked down at his plate for a moment, then smiled, “And the truth is, Mrs. Hirsch, that I didn’t expect this. I mean, Shiv- I thought we’d be together forever. But she wanted something that I just couldn’t give her. I’ll admit that it was wrong of me to keep it an affair for as long as I did, but I was so unhappy with her, it felt good to keep it a secret from her.”

Greg knew Tom absolutely hated saying all this. He barely talked about it to Greg, and he’d only known Marianne a few hours. But the fact that he was saying it meant a lot. It meant more than Tom probably fucking knew or would ever know

“But the thing is, and I think I speak for us both, when I say that I think Greg and I want the same thing,” Tom shrugged, “I know all things considered that there’s no reason to trust me, but I’ve asked him to and he’s agreed.”

“You weren’t this well spoken on the TV,” she said, leaning back in her chair. She gave Greg a look that he was pretty sure meant she approved. 

“Yeah I uh-- I’m pretty sure I got fucked on national television. I’m sorry you had to see it,” Tom said with mock seriousness, and Marianne laughed again.

“Are you two going to move out of New York?” she asked, changing the topic, “I can’t believe I sent my son to New York for Logan’s birthday and he comes back with his son in law.”

Tom laughed, and Greg relaxed a bit. He didn’t realize that he’d _also_ been pretty worried about this. 

“I think so,” Tom said, “Although we haven’t made any real plans. Greg says he can live on a middle class salary, but he has expensive taste.”

“He’s always been like that,” Marianne shook her head, “Would you like to see the photo albums I have?”

“OhI would like that very much,” Tom smiled and glanced at Greg, “I’d love that blackmail material. I have to say, Greg isn’t very good at blackmail.”

“I should have stayed in New York,” Greg sunk down into his chair.

“Greg, you bring home a boyfriend and I’m not allowed to embarrass you? He’s never brought anybody home before,” she smiled, returning her attention to Tom, clearly proud of herself at her ability to tease her son, “I wasn’t convinced he’d bring you.”

By the end of the evening, Greg believed that his mother liked Tom better than him, and there were tentative plans for her to visit once they’d found somewhere to move and settled in.

“I think we do Thanksgiving at my parents,” Tom said, when they got up to the guest room. They had plans to stay only a night, but Greg wouldn’t be surprised if that extended. Especially since there was no office to get back to anymore, “And Christmas here maybe.”

“That’d be nice,” Greg said, “You were, like, pretty open with her.”

“Oh God are you going to bring _that_ up?” Tom sat on the edge of the bed, then after a moment, laid back, arms up under his head, “I’m surprised you didn’t record it to use against me.”

“It was nice,” he said, “She likes you.”

“You think so?”

“Dude, she likes you a lot. I think she was, like, preparing to be really defensive, but you did good.”

“Well, next it’s my parents,” Tom said, “You better start prepping. Jesus, meeting the parents. How fucking domestic. What’s fucking next? Matching outfits? His and his fucking bath towels? Jesus Christ.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> appreciate you as always!


	26. state of grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom announces his divorce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another absolute banger from red

Greg had made it very clear that if Tom didn’t want to get a divorce, he wasn’t going to make him. He wasn’t going to request it, or even bring it up. It was strictly between him and Shiv.  
He knew that that was maybe bad. Unhealthy. But he didn’t care. If they needed to stay married for business reasons, or financial reasons, but Tom was in his bed every night, he literally did not give a fuck. It was bad, probably, to think that. Selfish and fucked and a little sleazy probably. All those words. But it was alright. 

(Sure, he thought about marrying Tom. That wasn’t new, but he never voiced it, and never gave it much weight. It just didn’t seem realistic and it felt like a waste of time to think about.)

And the truth was that he found he didn’t care really. He knew that was maybe messed up, but he was happy with how things were. Their plans to move were tentative, but growing firmer. He didn’t know when that would happen-- if it even happened-- or where they would go or how they would afford it. Actually, he knew very little.

But, much like his quitting ATN, Tom announced that he and Shiv were going to get a divorce. 

It was early still in the night, around nine or so. It was weird how you sometimes noticed things like that. They both sat on the edge of the bed. Tom looked like shit, and Greg wondered how long this had been stewing.

“Oh,” Greg said. It wasn’t very helpful or eloquent, but it was all his brain could provide.

“And it’s good. Frees us both. Makes a lot of sense. We have a prenup and everything so it shouldn't be too complicated.”

“You don’t have to be clinical about it if you don’t want to be.”

Tom frowned, and Greg put an incredibly awkward arm around his shoulder. He didn’t know how else to help. He’d never been very good at consoling really. Sure, if you told him what to do he would, but he was a nervous talker, and he knew people didn’t always want to hear it. 

“I just,” he rubbed at his eyes, like you’d rub at them if you were allergic to something, but Greg was pretty sure he was trying not to cry, “I don’t know. I feel like I failed or something. Like I wasn’t enough for her.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“What do you know about it?”

Greg fell silent. He knew that Tom wasn’t intentionally mean to him. But it still hurt sometimes, the way he thought Greg didn’t know anything, the way he shut him down when all he wanted was to try and help Tom feel better. It seemed kinda, like, self deprecating. To shut down someone who wanted to make you feel better. Like you didn’t think you deserved to be comforted or whatever. 

He knew that was bad. He knew it. He also knew that Tom knew it. Maybe they could work on it. Be better. 

“Sorry,” Tom muttered, “That was a dickish thing to say. I know you’re trying to help.”

“It’s alright,” Greg said.

“I just didn’t think this would happen. The good _and_ the bad shit.”

“No, it’s pretty crazy.”

“I do love you Greg,” Tom said, frowning as he did. Greg could only imagine what he was thinking, “Not the same was I love Shiv. But I love you. I want to start over with you. I do. Do you believe that?”

“Yes.” Greg found that he meant it. He knew that Tom wasn’t an upstanding citizen, but neither was he. They’d both done things they should be ashamed of. If Kendall wasn’t well spoken, if Shiv wasn’t good with people, they might have actually been in jail. Neither of them were saints. And yeah, Tom was an asshole to him sometimes. But Goddamn it, if Greg didn’t love him.

And when Tom said that he loved him, Greg believed him. 

“And I know I’m kind of an asshole to be around. But if you’d still take me-”

“Of course,” Greg frowned, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Jesus,” Tom rubbed his eyes again, fursiouly, “fucking Christ. 

After several quiet moments he practically fell against Greg, who sighed, and kissed the top of his head, “It’ll be alright probably. I mean, you said there was a prenup and all. There wasn’t a clause for in case you ran off with me?”

“Yeah Greg, we thought it was a possibility so we made sure to hash it out. There’s a perfect stipulation for it. How could I have forgotten to tell you about it?”

“I’m sorry you have to do this,” Greg said quietly, instead of commenting on Tom’s snark, “But I mean, you don’t have to if you think I want you to. I don’t want that.”

Tom took in the words, and Greg could see him turning them over, one by one, “I know. It’s better this way. Honestly, if it wasn’t expected of her, I don’t know if Shiv would have ever married in the first place. But what the fuck do I know. Nothing. Not cut out for monogamy. Our _wedding_ night. Holy fucking hell. I mean how do I work past that? Even my therapist was a little surprised. I guess you’re meant to address that before the wedding.”

“Yeah,” Greg said, “I’m sorry. It’s- I think it might be better now. Maybe it’ll be better now. We can make it better?”

“Stop saying better. You saying better doesn’t make it fucking better.”

“Sorry.”

“But maybe we can. Just be two assholes that make things _better_.” There was an edge to his tone but Greg didn’t think it was directed at him. 

Greg laughed, “A fresh start right? Like I mean, technically nobody needs to know we’re so Goddamn fucked when we get out of New York. I mean we have to, like, actually make plans to move though.”

“I think I’m more of an asshole than you are,” Tom said thoughtfully. Greg thought it was meant to be a joke, but it didn’t come across particularly funny. It came across as horrifically depressing. 

“Well, I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“I just really fucking love you is all,” Tom sighed, “And it’s so hard. I kept trying to get you to prove it early on that you didn’t want to be monogamous so I could know. That’s why I was like that. I thought if I could bring it to the table early on, it’d be easier. I would have more time to accept it. Maybe it was just me.”

“No, it’s not you,” Greg smiled, “And I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> appreciate you as always!


	27. ours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg asks the important question: who gets the dog in a divorce?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cannot believe i am so attached to a dog that's in like two episodes.

“Who gets your dog in the divorce?” Greg asked. The toast popped up and he grabbed it, tossing it onto the plate so it didn’t burn his hands.

“Mondale?”

“Yeah,” Greg leaned against the counter while Tom watched him from the table. He let the newspaper drop flat, “Is he your dog or Shiv’s? I was wondering.”

“He’s _ours_ ,” Tom frowned, “I don’t know if Shiv will want him. No one has brought him up yet, but he’s been at hers. Are you allergic to dogs?”

“No, my mom has one remember? I’m just saying if we’re moving out of the city it might make sense for you to have him. Dogs don’t generally like me though.”

“Dogs don’t _like_ you?”

“I think they see me as a threat. I’m so much bigger than them. Like Godzilla a little bit I think.”

“Greg what the fuck.”

“I’m just saying that like statistically dogs don’t like me,” Greg picked up one of the pieces of toast and took a bite, “But if you want to get your dog, we should get your dog.”

“What, break into the house and dognap?”

“Well, I mean like, yeah.”

“We might get arrested.”

“Can you get your lawyer to ask Shiv’s lawyer if you can have the dog?”

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose, “I mean yes? Jesus Christ I feel like we’re fucking parents. I feel sort of bad, he’s a good dog. And if we got a nice house, somewhere with a big lawn?”

Greg nodded, “You should ask.”

“Yeah,” Tom said, “I’ll call. Would you get me some more coffee?”

“Sure,” Greg watched Tom get up, and watched him go back into the hall. He knew Tom liked to have privacy when he talked to his lawyers. He always gave Greg a rundown afterwards, but Greg understood. Divorce was tough. And he felt bad.

When Tom came to him with red rimmed eyes after the phone calls, or wanted to throw something across the room, Greg held him, gave him something soft to throw so he didn’t shatter anything important. There wasn’t really anything else he could do. He sort of felt helpless about the entire situation, because he sort of felt like it was his fault.

Tom would have told him to shut the fuck up if Greg voiced that but that didn’t make it any less true. If Greg was out of the equation, or maybe if Greg had just managed to keep himself from falling in love, there’d be no Divorce in the first place. Even if Greg wasn’t the actual reason for the split, he knew he played a part. 

He waited, poured the coffee and munched on his toast. He put Tom’s coffee at his spot and sat down, blowing on his own to cool it. He and Tom had spent several hours discussing The Divorce. That was with a capital D. You could hear it. Most was spelled out in the prenup, which made it easy. Greg was no lawyer but he was pretty sure Tom was somehow getting screwed on the deal, but Tom didn’t seem to care. 

Greg really did feel incredibly special. Like, he _knew_ Tom loved him. But the fact that he was willing to go through all of The Divorce sort of for him felt different. Felt more serious somehow. 

He slid the newspaper over to him, but it didn’t hold his attention.

He suddenly wanted nothing more than to get the dog. Take the dog, take Tom, and fuck off to the lakes or the beach and never go back to New York for the rest of his life. God, what the fuck kind of granola fantasy was this?

The newspaper didn’t hold his interest, and he slid it back, before pulling out his phone to try and see what kind of legal precedent there was for getting the dog in a divorce. It seemed to depend on who bought the dog, but Greg didn’t know who that was. There was something about who could provide for the dog, and Greg was pretty sure if they got a nice big yard, the judge would award Tom the dog in that case, but they didn’t have the house yet. 

Another twenty minutes or so passed. He added more coffee to keep Tom’s hot, and tried to come up with some kind of legal defense. He didn’t really know any lawyers besides Gerri but he was absolutely certain she would not take his phone call, and even if she did, she’d hang up when he asked her about this.

Tom returned, tucking his phone away.

“Well?” Greg asked.

“He said he would talk to Shiv’s lawyers, but it was more than likely we could have Mondale. He thought it unlikely Shiv would put up a fight.”

“That’s good then,” Greg said, “When are you supposed to hear?” 

“This afternoon. He thinks it’ll be quick,” he picked up the coffee, “Thank you.”

“Why are you thanking me?” Greg asked.

“For letting me get my dog.”

Greg smiled, and asked Tom for the comics page, and Tom kicked him under the table while he handed them over. The moment of seriousness passed, and Greg was thankful.

He could tell Tom was anxious for the phone call back, and Greg did his best to keep the conversation light that morning. But Tom kept checking his phone, and when the call did come, he practically ran into the other room. 

Greg returned to planning his legal defense. 

He bounced his leg up and down waiting for Tom to come back. It felt like forever.

“We’re dog parents,” Tom said, very seriously as if announcing the birth of a child, “Congratulations.”

“She said yes?” Greg asked. 

“Apparently so. I’m not going to question it. She’s getting almost everything else.”

That evening, Mondale was back at thiers-- Greg had gone to the nearest pet store and asked the woman working there to pile in everything she thought they would need for their new custody arrangement, while Tom went to pick the dog up. 

They settled on a dog bed in the corner, but Mondale slept in their bed after examining the entire apartment, and Greg was pretty sure it would become permanent.

He didn’t mind. He really didn’t. Because Mondale seemed to like him. 

“We’re going to have to stay together,” Tom said sleepily. He had one hand on Mondale and rolled over to face Greg, “Mondale can’t go through another divorce.”

“I was trying to come up with a court case to get you custody,” Greg said, “I googled it. It was possible.”

“You were going to, what? Be my lawyer? When I have lawyers? And my mom is a lawyer? Idiot.”

“Yeah,” Greg frowned, “I could have been a character witness for you. I don’t know. I wanted you to have your dog. Our dog? Is there like adoption papers?”

“You’re bad at testifying though.”

“Well like yeah,” Greg chuckled, “but so are you.”

“We’re going to be alright,” Tom said after a moment, in the voice he’d been using to talk to the dog all afternoon, but Greg was _pretty_ sure he was talking to all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	28. mirrorball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg thinks about how much they've changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who started watching succession again lmao

The thing was that sometimes it felt like it wasn’t real.

Before, things had been awkward. They did their best to keep it temporary. Tom kept a very small amount of things there, confined to half a drawer at the bottom of his dresser. But now his things had spread out throughout the apartment. Jackets in the coat closet, shoes by the front door. Two toothbrushes by the sink. Little signs that another person now existed there. A permanent presence in his life. 

(When and if they moved-- the topic was brought up more and more now, and Greg thought it was more than likely-- he was pretty sure their things would just meld together.)

This Tom was different too. Greg hadn’t been expecting it. He was still an asshole, and would probably admit to you, but this Tom would also cling sleepily to him in the early mornings all while calling him a piece of shit. This Tom would laugh at his jokes and then proceed to call him a fucking moron. But Greg was learning that the first part was usually the more sincere. 

He’d told him that, one morning, when Tom had kissed him and then bitched that he wasn’t making coffee as good as he used to make coffee.

“I just think you’re actually kind of nice.”

“Don't say that”

“It’s true,” Greg said, “Like, historically speaking, you’re getting nicer to me. Even though you’re still kind of mean, I think it’s more for like, the reputation now.”

“You’re making me nicer,” Tom replied, “Dickhead.”

“See? That’s what I mean.”

“It’s your fault,” Tom said, “I feel like you force me to be all… emotional.”

“To be fair though, it’s good to express emotions. Healthy.”

“Do we still hate it a little bit? I know _I_ hate it a little bit.”

Greg shrugged, “Very much a new thing. Being unrepressed.”

“You think I’m _repressed?_ ”

“Are-are you joking?” Greg asked quietly, “Dude.”

“I guess you’re probably right,” Tom sighed, and picked up his coffee, but didn’t drink it. Maybe it really wasn’t as good anymore, but Greg hadn’t changed the way he made coffee and he thought maybe Tom just didn’t feel like bitching about him personally anymore, and instead focused on material things, like the coffee, “I hate that you make me see that kind of thing. At least it’s in private.”

“Well that should be, like, alright then,” Greg reasoned, “No one else sees it.”

“Yeah but _you_ do and I don’t know if that’s better. You make me see parts of myself and I don’t know if I like them,” Tom shrugged. His voice was quiet, like Greg might not listen if he was quiet enough, “Like looking in the fucking mirror. I can see if on your face when I’m too much of a jackass.”

“I know you don’t really mean it.”

“Shut up about that,” Tom said, “Keep that to yourself.”

“It’s true though,” Greg replied.

“Stop saying it. I’m serious, stop saying it.”

But to prove Greg’s point, Tom came over, and wrapped an arm around him from behind, kind of like you might strangle someone, but his touch was so light it didn’t have the same effect. Tom kissed the top of his head.

“The thing is that I love you,” Tom said, “That’s what it is.”

“Are you like, trying to reason out being nice?”

“Shut up,” Tom replied instead of answering, “I’m not nice. I’m a corporate asshole.”

“I mean, I think maybe you can be both. I don’t mind. I won’t tell.”

Tom chuckled lightly, “Don’t suddenly become a fucking philosopher. It’s fucking weird.”

“Yeah right?”

Tom kissed him again, and went off to the other room. Greg heard the bathroom door shut. Tom liked to go for runs in the morning, usually early, but he’d been getting up later without an office to go into. Greg finished in coffee in silence, and Tom called a goodbye before heading out. 

He put the dirty dishes in the sink, and poured himself another cup of coffee-- actually Tom was right, it wasn’t as good as it used to be-- and returned to his seat. 

It was kind of odd, the way Tom had changed. It was subtle, more than anything. He knew that maybe Tom wasn’t a good person, but he thought Tom had the potential, just like he did. And maybe Tom _was_ a good person, he just hadn’t been presented with very many opportunities to be good. Greg knew he’d done things that were bad, and that most sane people would blanch at but did it make him a _bad_ person? 

He didn’t like to call himself a bad person. He didn’t like to call Tom a bad person. Not inherently. Maybe getting away from everything would help. They could go through a fucking character arc and come out on the other side as different people. Maybe there was still time. 

Tom was already different than he used to be. Greg thought he was almost affectionate. He’d read up on love languages once, and he was _pretty_ sure Tom’s was touch. 

And he liked it. A lot. And he was pretty sure Tom liked it too, and that was something he’d never had admitted to before. He liked when Tom held onto him and touched him and kissed him. Even if he called him a piece of shit while he did it. It made him feel… something. Loved maybe. Wanted. And he kinda felt like it was Tom’s way of letting him know that he did love him. He said it sure, but if Greg was going by just touch, then Tom said it all the time. 

He knew this was something that had to be confined to the walls of the apartment. When no one was around to see. That was fucking performative, the way they had to act around the Roys, at Waystar. That was the performance. 

When Tom got home, Mondale ran over to meet him, and Tom got down on the floor to pet him. Greg finally got up from the breakfast table and also went into the hall.

“Do you want to be pet too?” Tom asked, pushing himself up off the floor, and he ruffled Greg’s hair as he passed, “What’s up?”

“Hey man, I love you.”

Tom turned to look back at him and smiled, fondly if a little confused, “Yeah. I know. I love you too. That’s why I’m here.”

“Yeah no I know,” Greg rubbed the back of his neck, “I just was thinking. So I wanted to tell you again.”

“You were thinking? Be careful you don’t hurt yourself.”

Greg smiled, “Yeah. But I do really love you.”

“Yeah I know. I love you too,” Tom rolled his eyes, “That’s enough of that now idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> appreciated as always!


	29. sparks fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg take a weekend away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're in the home stretch now folks!

Greg felt like they were rehearsing being out of New York. It was a strange word, yeah, but it was a rehearsal. Maybe it was because it made it real. When they went out for the weekends, and stayed in B&B’s and tiny hotels on the ocean and the boardwalk or anywhere there were no skyscrapers and no taxis and no office buildings. 

It seemed to him, although they had never explicitly said it, the longer they were in New York, the more ansty they got. 

It was a difficult thing. Greg was realizing that the idea of being fucking scared out of your Goddamn mind to leave, and wanting nothing more than to get the hell out of the city could exist at the same time. 

They were up on the coast, in Maine now. Greg didn’t know where they would end up exactly, but they kept trying out different places in the hopes that somewhere would stick. 

“It’s _fucking_ freezing out,” Tom said, as the two of them made their way through the rocky beach, back up to the hotel. Greg was focusing almost exclusively on not tripping over the rocks. He could foresee himself falling, and taking Tom down with him. That, or Tom taking a step back and letting him fall on his face. It was a toss up really.

He knew he was being a little financially irresponsible, with all these weekend trips, but Greg found that he didn’t really care too much? Tom was good with money, and he honestly trusted Tom to let him know if they were about to go bankrupt. 

“I mean it’s a very average temperature for this climate.”

“Sometimes you talk like a fucking computer.”

“You want my jacket?”

“Yes, I think you should give it to me. It’s cold. And Maine was _your_ idea.”

Greg rolled his eyes, but slid out of his jacket without complaint. They were around the same size, but Tom was broader than him, and he couldn’t button Greg’s jackets and shirts sometimes. Greg knew there was a joke in there, but he hadn’t managed to come up with it yet. He was always just working through the image of Tom wearing his things. It felt incredibly… intimate.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Tom said, and Greg looked up. It was starting to rain.

(He remembered the last time they’d been caught in the rain. They’d been so different then.)

“Uh oh,” Greg said, “Better get inside before you melt.”

“ Did you just call me the Wicked Witch?”

Greg laughed, “I think like, arguably, if you were to be anybody, you would be her.”

“Then you’re the fucking flying monkey dickwad, how’s that make you feel?”

Greg shrugged, “Honestly, not that bad. It feels a little like beastiality though.”

“I hate you so much.”

The rain picked up a bit. Most people must have known the rain was coming, because it was pretty deserted out. They had made their way to a small bridge, the hotel another thirty feet away or so. Tom reached out and pulled him forward by his shirt. Greg nearly tripped walking forward. They were not really ones for _public_ affection. He glanced around, a brief vision of Logan popping out of nowhere. It seemed somewhat possible honestly.

“What are you doing?” Greg asked.

“I’m kissing you,” Tom replied, and it was exactly what he did. The rain picked up, but Greg hardly felt it. 

“Oh. Alright,” Greg said, “Just checking I guess.”

“Shut up,” Tom kissed him again.

Greg thought the coast might be nice, but he couldn’t shake the idea of going back to a lake town. Maybe not the same one they went to-- that one seemed way too upscale, but something _like_ that. He didn’t know if Tom would be willing to move somewhere like that, away from fancy houses and rich people shops, but they had both changed an _incredible_ amount since this all began. Greg was pretty sure he wouldn’t have even recognized himself. He was a different person really. He didn’t think that was a bad thing or a good thing, it was just a human thing. People changed when things happened.

“We should go back to the hotel,” Tom said, “I’m incredibly interested in taking this off of you.”

He pulled on Greg’s shirt to indicate his point. They were both getting completely drenched and he ran a hand through his sopping hair. 

“You _still_ get flustered at that?” Tom shook his head, “I’m not even sure if that’s a compliment at this point. Maybe there’s something wrong with you. Should you see a doctor?”

“I mean, I’m not actually doing it on purpose. I don’t think you can actually make yourself not blush.”

It was raining harder now, the hint of thunder in the distance. 

“You’re so tall,” Tom mused, glancing behind him in the direction of the noise, “You might attract lightning.”

“Dude, you’re only a _little_ shorter than me. I mean, like the odds of getting struck by lighting for you are also pretty good.”

“Why do you have to rub it in?” he leaned forward, resting against Greg for a moment. 

“I’m pretty sure the rain has soaked through my socks,” Greg muttered, “it feels like, pretty terrible. Kind of squishy.”

“Better get inside,” Tom said thoughtfully, “Don’t want to melt.”

He followed Tom up the road, into the lobby. They dried their shoes off on the rug, and the woman behind the counter offered to get them some extra towels, which Grag accepted.

“You two got caught I see,” she said, smiling, “You’ll want to shower and warm up before you catch your death. It’s only supposed to get worse tonight.”

Tom stood in front of the fire place-- they’d turned it on since they’d left earlier, since someone had probably seen the rain in the forecast-- and watched the TV while Greg waited for the woman to return. 

“You two make a handsome couple, if you don’t mind my saying so,” she said, handing over the pile.

“Oh,” Greg smiled, suddenly very embarrassed, “Thanks.”

He was pretty sure it was the first time a stranger had ever acknowledged them as a couple. It felt incredibly fucking weird. Because, yes, they were a couple, but the idea of actively being called a couple felt too strange. They weren’t. How could they be a couple? What the fuck. They were just two people who were in love. That was better. Couple felt wrong. Too domestic. 

“You two take care now,” she called warmly, and he tapped Tom on the shoulder to get his attention.

“Making friends?” Tom asked, and pointed to the TV, “Is this what actual news is like?”

“Yeah,” Greg chuckled, “Ready to go? I think I’m starting to grow icicles.”

“What’d she say?” 

“She called us a handsome couple,” Greg replied, as they went down the hall. Greg tucked the towels under one arm.

“Oh Gross. What is this 1920?”

“Yeah right?”

“I guess she’s right though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you as always!


	30. interlude: invisible string

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom muses on the universe, fate, or whatever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not me having a _dream_ about succession last night i-
> 
> anyway it's so wild to me that this is one of the last chapters. this has been such a constant of the mornings for me lol.

Sometimes, Tom thought about the women he had dated. 

(Because they had all been women-- Greg was new in a lot of ways. Ways he hadn’t really given much weight too in a long time.)

High school was off and on. He hadn’t been popular per say, but he’d had several girlfriends, and he was well liked by most of the class. But once he’d met Shiv later on, that’d been it. He had fully expected her to be his forever. He knew the Roys didn’t really talk like that, but it was true. He had loved-- did love-- Shiv. 

So how exactly the fuck he had ended up here, he didn’t know.

He didn’t really believe in that cheesy, romantic soulmate shit. 

And even if he had, if you had asked him a year ago, he’d have told you it was Shiv. And maybe that had been the right answer. Maybe it had been and now it wasn’t. He didn’t know. It was all too damn confusing. 

What he did know, now as he watched Greg feed french fries to Mondale like Tom couldn’t see it even though Tom had said a hundred times already that Mondale wasn’t supposed to have people food because he had a very specific dog food diet he was on but Greg had argued that he deserved a nice treat every once and a while. 

They had half heartedly begun to pack, but the idea of moving, of leaving New York City behind seemed too impossible to really fathom, despite how much they wanted out. Everything had been about this, about New York and Waystar and the Roys, and now he was really saying fuck it, and leaving.

“Quit that,” Tom said, over his laptop. There were still several things to be signed, people to call, items to be finalized. There was no sense of urgency, not really. There was enough money to keep things going for a bit, “He’s not supposed to have people food.”

“Technically potatoes are dog food as well, like they sell it in dog food cans,” Greg said, tossing another fry down to Mondale, “So he’s not having people food. It's a dog and people food at the very least. Very much the king of the starches if you ask me.”

But like. _Greg._

Could he have seen this coming? Back at Logan’s birthday party? When they worked in cruises? It was a silly thing almost, the way he’d thought fleetingly about Greg back then. He never could have admitted attraction to himself, much less anybody else, and especially not Greg. 

His parents had been surprised to say the least. Not only had he and Shiv mostly ended things, but for another man. 

He’d been worried, when he had called, that they’d be upset, but in the end, after some careful explanations, his mother had told him that she wanted him to be happy. That had been clear. Sure there’d been some _are you sure?_ and _you’re serious about this?_ But that was to be expected. It was a lot, all at once. It felt like a minor interrogation, but in the end it was alright.

If this was what made him happy, then that was fine by her. 

Probably, likely, she was hoping he’d do better this time. 

If he believed in the universe or fate or whatever, he might have thought that they were meant to be. He didn’t, of course, that shit was way too New Agey for him, but given how Greg wasn’t even meant to be in New York that day, but then he was? Would they have ever met if he hadn’t? 

(Again, he didn’t believe in that shit. He refused to believe in that.)

It was just luck he supposed. Just the way things were. Like people who met their spouse in a bar in the city-- eight million people and you happened to choose that bar, on that night. 

But even if things had been different, what were the odds he’d have run into Greg otherwise? They seemed slim. And it wasn’t that he thought Greg was his soulmate, because that wasn’t anything he believed it. You were just more suited to certain people than others. It was probably science, biology. Chemistry. 

It was very simple. So simple it was almost hard to believe.

He and Greg just wanted the same things. All that mixed together happened to equal love he supposed. Maybe Shiv had been right about that. Love was a multitude of things all mashed together. The love he felt for her and this new love were different. It didn’t make one better than the other. They just were two separate things. He and Shiv just… didn’t work out. He wanted to blame her, but he couldn’t. She didn’t really do anything wrong in the end. Maybe he wished she’d told him sooner, but that was the past now. She didn’t, so that was that.

Mostly it was his fault. He’d initiated the arrangement between them, he’d come back to Greg’s after the little breakup, he’d fallen in love. If the blame was to fall on anyone, it should fall squarely on Tom’s shoulders. 

The thing was-- and he knew this was no way to measure things-- he was happier _with_ Greg than without him, and the opposite had become true with Shiv. Whether or not Tom deserved to be happy, he felt that was up in the air. But something had decided it was allowed, and maybe he’d just grab onto it until he couldn’t any longer. He _wanted_ this, this happiness, this love, this whatever the fuck it was.

It seemed simple but also incredibly fucking complicated. 

“I thought dogs didn’t like you,” Tom said.

“Maybe Mondale’s not a dog,” Greg reasoned, “Have you considered DNA testing?”

Tom rolled his eyes, “What does that even mean? What is he?”

“Maybe he’s just, like, the exception that proves the rule,” Greg shrugged. He gave Mondale the last fry and came to stand behind Tom, probably to see what he was doing. Tom felt a hand settle on his shoulder and Greg leaned down a bit to see.

He liked that about Greg too. There was a lot of physical touch. And not just sex, that wasn’t it. It was a _part_ of it, sure, but there was something else. Sometimes Greg just touched him, casually, fondly. Shiv hadn’t liked it that much, not really, and he was getting used to it still. Greg would squeeze his shoulder when he passed, would kiss his cheek, would roll over in bed and end up right on his chest. And when Tom did the same, Greg didn’t seem to mind it. Greg seemed to _know_ that Tom liked it. How, he didn’t know. 

See? How had things aligned so that this could have happened? It seemed compelling evidence for _something_ as much as he didn’t want to admit it. 

“You know what I was thinking about?” Greg asked.

“Hmm?”

“How you’re going to have to rebuild that dresser.”

“Actually,” Tom said, “I think we should just stay here. I’m not putting that together again. I’m sure we can back out of it. They’d understand when I explained the situation.”

“Aren’t you, like, embarrassed at your inability?”

“It’s not a necessary skill Greg. No one has ever asked me in an interview to put together a dresser.”

“Maybe they might though.”

“I tend to doubt it.”

He supposed there was no real way to know if something was going to work out. Maybe some people just got lucky, and the first person they ever fell in love with was the person who worked out. The odds seemed slim. There were billions of people on earth. How lucky did you have to be to find the person who you could manage to make things work with for forty, fifty, sixty years. Whatever the case.

It almost, _almost_ , made him believe in something higher. Not quite. But almost.

He’d never asked Shiv if they were soulmates—it didn’t seem like the sort of conversation they would have ever had anyway. He wouldn’t ask Greg. He didn’t even know himself. How could he ask someone that question and not even have the answer himself.

But none of it really mattered. 

Whatever had happened in his life had led to this moment. Mondale eating greasy fries off the floor. A house on a lake that would be officially thiers soon enough. Greg standing behind him and watching him work on the computer. An almost finalized divorce. Unemployment. The fucking future staring at him and practically demanding to know what he was going to do with it. 

It was so weird. It really was. 

Fuck, maybe there was fate, or the universe, or someone responsible for it all. 

(He sort of thought Logan might have wished it could be him, that he could hold that kind of power, but Logan would never have allowed this to happen. It made him almost fucking giddy about it. He’d never been able to stand up to Logan, not really, not enough, and now here he was.)

He laughed quietly.

“You’re not still laughing about the dresser?” Greg asked.

“No, just life. It doesn’t matter. We have to pack this shit up if we’re leaving.”

“I mean you’re the one doing work and not actually packing.”

“You’re such a piece of shit,” Tom said, “I can’t stand you.”

“I’m going to be real with you man, I’m starting to believe that’s not true. Come help me pack the kitchen when I get back. I feel bad leaving Mondale in there by himself.”

Tom laughed again, “I think you’re just with me for my dog. I couldn’t have fucking forseen that one.”

Greg laughed too, “I’m taking Mondale for a walk. Then we’ll see if you can’t stand me.”

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck was that? That’s impressive. Where’d you pick that up?”

Greg laughed on his way into the living room, Mondale trotting after him at the sound of his leash jingling. Tom smiled after them in spite of himself. 

Fuck it. Maybe he’d just have to believe in _something._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> appreciate you as always!


	31. getaway car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg make the leap out of New York City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're really, truly in the endgame now lmao. thank y'all so much for reading!

Everything had been packed into the car. It had been a bit of a trip, balancing things on top of each other and trying not to come spilling out of the elevator, but eventually they’d managed it. 

Most was sent ahead, meaning they’d slept in a practically barren apartment for several nights before moving. There were vague plans to be out the door by six, because the drive was going to be at least six hours with stops and all, but in reality, Tom had snoozed the alarm twice and Greg had slept through the first one anyway, and by the time coffee had been made, and Mondale had been walked it was nearly nine thirty. It took another half and hour to make it downstairs. 

Tom had declared that it was Greg’s turn to drive, and Greg hadn’t argued. He didn’t really mind driving, especially since Tom didn’t mind the radio or talking like Ewan did, and Greg was actually a pretty good driver, even though Tom kept pointing out the new scar on his forehead—under his bangs from the stitches he’d had to get—every time he said it, even though Greg had told him the accident hadn’t been his fault.

“Is it just me or does this feel fucking weird?” Greg asked. He felt jittery, not just from the caffeine. He was anxious and kept shifting in the seat until Tom told him to stop fucking fidgeting like a toddler or he was going to make him walk there. The day felt strangely unreal, like something out of a dream. Maybe not a nightmare, but not necessarily a fucking great one either. A stressful one, like when you couldn’t find your classroom, or get your locker open and the bell was ringing.

“It’s not just you,” Tom replied, glancing out of the window. Even this early there was traffic, but mostly because Greg had his phone calculate a route that avoided several spots, namely the Roy house and the apartment that formerly belonged to Tom and Shiv, but now, presumably, was just hers, instead of picking the route with the least traffic. It seemed like the sacrifice was worth it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Greg tried.

“Not really,” Tom shut him down, and turned the radio up to prove his point. He understood the conflicting feelings, and he was sure Tom’s were worse. They sat quietly for a moment, while the radio blasted.

His phone rang, and he swiped at it until he answered it, trying to avoid taking his eyes off the road for too long and trying to avoid looking directly at Tom.

“Hi Mom,” he said. He turned the radio down so he could hear her better.

“Hi Mrs. Hirsch,” Tom called too, half heartedly. 

“Are you on the road yet?” she asked, and her voice told him that she expected no as an answer. He really didn’t blame her for that, since they were severely behind. 

“Uh huh,” he said, “We sure are.”

“Are you lying to me? Tom, is he lying to me?”

Tom chuckled, but it was weak. Obviously so. Greg shot him a look but he wasn’t paying attention and didn’t notice the worry, “No. We’re on the road. We’re just still in Manhattan.”

“I like having you around Tom,” she said, “Keep him in line. He doesn’t listen to me.”

“He doesn’t listen to me either. I think he’s here for Mondale.”

“Do you have enough gas?” she asked, chuckling softly at Tom’s words. She really did like Tom, she’d texted him when they’d gotten home after that first visit and told him as much. Greg had been anxious she was just playing nice around him. It wasn’t so much that she had needed to like Tom. He could have understood if she didn’t. He tried to put himself in her shoes, and he could see the logic behind not liking Tom. And Tom would have probably agreed with her. 

But he was glad she _did_ like him.

Greg glanced nervously at the dashboard, kicking himself for forgetting to fill up the tank, “Uh, for like a bit.”

“You call me when you get in,” she said, “Tom, make sure he calls me if he forgets.”

“Will do.”

“Have a safe drive,” she said and then after a few seconds, “I love you.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t know that, but she rarely ended phone calls with it. He was pretty sure she was proud of him, for sort of pulling his shit together. He knew that she’d been disappointed in him in the past. And honestly, she should be disappointed in him still, he’d technically broken up a marriage and quit his well paying job, but maybe she thought he was finally being an adult somehow. What the fuck did he know about anything.

“Yeah,” he replied, hoping she couldn’t hear his surprise, “I love you too.”

He hung up, and sighed. 

“You know,” Tom said, “My parents are begging for us to come down there. Ever since I told them about you.”

“I mean we could go,” Greg reasoned, “I don’t see why not. I don’t think I met them at the wedding. But maybe like, Thanksgiving this year? That might be nice. We should do it.”

“Yeah,” Tom muttered, “It might. Are you sure you didn’t fuck up the directions?”

“I’m, like, pretty sure. Ninety percent sure.”

“There’s just too many people here,” Tom said, “Too many fucking ghosts. The whole city is haunted.”

“Probably like literally. Lotta Revolutionary War battles around here. Lotta ghosts.”

“Cause _that’s_ what I meant. You knew what I meant.”

“Yeah,” Greg fell silent. 

“Sorry,” Tom muttered, when they were on the bridge. It was the first thing he’d said in at least twenty minutes. Greg was wondering how long one could sit in silence without going insane because the radio wasn’t enough and Tom was staring straight ahead like he was plotitng a murder or something, “I’m fucking messed up about this.”

“I think you were a robot if you weren’t. But like, it’s alright.”

“It seemed fucked up to complain about it to you. I mean, just because I can doesn’t mean I should. I would feel like shit if you were bitching about your ex wife all the time.”

“I don’t feel like shit,” Greg said, “I think if you’re upset then you should be upset. You _were_ married after all.”

It was different, sure, from his own parents split in a thousand different ways because he remembered those days. 

But his mother had been sad when his father left, even though she’d been happy it was over. Marriage was complicated. Love was even more complicated. Tom didn’t owe him a fucking smooth sailing happy life. 

Actually, Tom didn’t owe him anything really, when he thought about it. 

Greg had exactly what he wanted. He sort of hated himself for it. Felt like he was somehow scamming someone out of something. That someday somebody would pull the rug out from under him and he’d be royally fucked. Maybe he was still bracing for it.

“If you want to be upset or messed up or whatever, I understand,” Greg said slowly, “Because you’re a human being. Even my mom was upset when she and Dad got a divorce.”

“You never talk about him,” Tom said, much to Greg’s surprise. Tom hadn’t ever asked, and it was true that Greg had never brought the topic up, he had just assumed Tom wasn’t that interested. 

“There’s not much to talk about,” Greg shrugged. He hadn’t spoken to his father beyond the very basic pleasantries in _years_ and that was fine by him, “We don’t talk that much you know? But like, it makes sense to be upset, when like a marriage ends.”

“When did he leave?” Tom asked. It was cautious, and Greg didn’t blame him. He was pretty sure his father had never been a topic of conversation between them. 

“Oh,” Greg frowned. He hadn’t expected this line of questioning, and was actually just hoping he could make Tom feel better with it, “Long time ago. I was, uh, like fourteen? It was a long time ago. I don’t know, I think it might have been better if I was too young to remember it, cause for so long I was like, well how am I supposed to form like, meaningful relationships now?”

“Yeah. That must have been really hard on you. And your mom too. I’ve heard-”

“Yeah,” Greg cut him off before he could finish, simply because he didn’t want to know what Tom had heard, “Everybody’s heard. It’s mostly true. Mom likes to pretend it’s not sometimes. It doesn’t matter. But like, that’s what I mean cause like, she was upset when they got a divorce even though she was happy about it. So like, you can also be upset and I won’t be mad.”

“Thanks for your permission,” Tom said. Greg knew he was trying to sound sarcastic, but it sounded genuine, “It kind of feels like Shiv’s still here, like with us? Does that make sense?”

Greg nodded, “Maybe it’ll be better when we’re far away. Just, gettin’ the hell out of dodge so to speak.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m sorry for asking about your dad. If it’s a touchy subject.”

“It’s fine,” Greg replied, even though it wasn’t really, but how could Tom have known that, and it wasn’t Tom’s fault anyway. 

They fell quiet again. When they were out of Manhattan, and the streets weren’t so narrow, and he could afford to loosen up a bit, he held out a hand, hoping Tom would take it. After several very tense moments, he did, squeezing back just once in some kind of acknowledgement. Greg took it for what it was worth. Tom’s hand in his was a very grounding thing, a reassurance that this wasn’t actually some dream, but really happening.

Once they’d crossed state lines, into New Jersey, Tom perked up a bit, started bitching about the news that was on, and complaining about Greg’s playlist, even though Greg caught him singing under his breath several times. He dug through the glove compartment seemingly not being able to find whatever he was looking for and he kept reaching back to talk to Mondale, and then returning to criticizing Greg’s driving and sometimes doing both at the same time. 

All in all it felt very normal. There was a hint of tension still, one Greg hoped would diminish as their trip continued, but the normalcy was setting in.

“We’re really doing this huh,” Tom muttered but Greg knew he was just thinking out loud, “Holy fuck man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's basing greg's dad's entire personality off of one line from season one, for me


	32. mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg fight, and Greg hopes it's not foreshadowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big personal fan of this chapter idk why lol

Just then, Greg realized it was sort of stupid of him to think that they, like, wouldn’t fight. That getting the things he wanted wasn’t an automatic cure all. 

They’d always bickered-- and he still hadn’t forgotten having water bottles chucked across the room at him in Tom’s fit of manic rage or the half assed assault when he’d tried to talk to him the morning of his and Shiv’s wedding. Tom would wince whenever he brought them up. 

And the bickering was there even before all of this had started, long before the emotional affair had turned physical had turned actual relationship. 

Greg didn’t know what he was doing half the time, and Tom didn’t know how to really handle it when things didn’t go his way. He had stupidly thought things would be smooth sailing now, but that wasn’t going to be the case. It wasn’t the best combination after all. 

“I’m actually not entirely sure what the fuck you’re talking about,” Tom said, one hand on his waist. They were in the kitchen and it was way too late to still be up. Things were still mostly unpacked, boxes lay strewn in hallways, and most of the items they needed were not where they were supposed to be. Tom had been snippy for two days-- it was probably lack of sleep and, like, dehydration more than anything else-- and Greg had just quit talking to him. It just seemed like the easiest response. He was tired and stressed out and didn’t want to put in the energy to fight with Tom.

(He really, really, _really_ hoped this wasn’t foreshadowing for the rest of their lives. It couldn't have been good to fight literally the first few days of living somewhere together. He hoped that maybe it was just getting it all out now.)

“I don’t know man,” Greg ran a hand through his hair, “I just feel like you're being really aggressive towards me and I don’t know what I’m supposed to have done? I know you have some like, fucked up notion of how you’re supposed to act but if you’re mad about something you should just tell me instead of just acting like this. Cause I kinda feel like you can’t stand to be in the same room as me. And it fucking sucks because we’re kind of stuck together now, so if you’re mad, you should tell me.”

Tom stared at him. Blinked. Opened his mouth and then shut it. He tapped his fingers on the counter. Greg was acutely aware of each action. He glanced around, but the only thing Tom could easily throw at him would be his own cell phone, and that seemed unlikely. Besides, he sorta hoped Tom had outgrown that.

“What are you saying to me?”

“I don’t know,” Greg frowned because he really didn’t. The words had just come out before he could stop them, “I just think you’re being a dick and I wish you’d stop taking it all out on me. I’m not, like, the bad guy here.”

“Well then,” Tom nodded and his voice was like ice, “I don’t know why you think you’re being any better. It’s like talking to a wall sometimes Greg. I know you’re scheming and cunning or fucking whatever but you do the stupidest shit. Like a fucking kid I swear to God. You need me to babysit you? You can’t just clam up when you’re annoyed and never speak again. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have a degree in everything like you do,” he muttered, but he knew Tom heard. It was a little fucked up to say, a little below the belt, but he was upset. And again, it came out before he could stop it. Evidently it really _was_ bad to keep shit bottled up. 

The silence fell again. Tom slipped past him, and Greg waited-- for what he wasn’t sure. The front door opened and shut, and he thought briefly about following Tom out but that felt too childish, and if Tom already thought he was a kid, that would make it worse to go chasing after him. 

He should have seen this coming, he supposed. This kind of fight. Maybe he was too immature to have seen it though. He should have been content in the fact that Tom was the one acting childish, and he should go to bed. Tom was an adult, and if he wanted to fuck off in the middle of the night, he could do just that.

He waited several moments. He heard Mondale climb the stairs, probably thinking they were heading to bed and planning to claim his territory before they could get up there. 

The front door did not open. Greg was very aware of the distinct lack of noise from the hall.

But it _was_ dark out, and they hadn’t been in the neighborhood very long, and what if there was like an escaped convict on the loose or something? Maybe the neighbors owned a lot of guns and would defend their property with them? Maybe he’d fall in the lake and drown.

(He had a very brief flash of getting some call in the morning because Tom had been run over or drowned or mauled by a bear or something and it made him want to be sick. It seemed dramatic, but wouldn’t that just be fucking typical?)

He shook his head, and followed.

“Tom,” he called from the porch, hanging out of the doorway. Tom hadn’t made it that far, just to the end of the yard. He paused and turned at his name, “You’re going to get murdered out here or kidnapped. Don’t you know how many unsolved missing person cases America currently has?”

He couldn’t really make Tom out in the darkness, but he was almost certainly rolling his eyes.

“Are you, like, going to sleep on the lawn?” Greg asked, “It’s kinda wet out.”

Tom stalked back to the deck and stood at the bottom of the stairs, “I’m sorry. That was incredibly cruel of me to say.”

“I’m sorry too,” Greg said, “Honestly, I think it’s kinda hot you have an MBA.”

“You’re _definitely_ ruining this moment,” Tom smiled and came up to the doorstep as well, “I’ve been thinking about when Shiv and I first moved in together. How fucking hopeful I was. I have a nasty habit of taking things out on you cause I think you can take it. I was too fucking scared to take it out on her.”

“I know. It’s alright.”

“It’s not,” Tom shook his head, “It’s not alright. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“You’ve said I’m sorry to me more tonight then like, ever.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he kissed Greg on the cheek, “I’m about to pass out. Care to join me?”

“Are we just going to live among the boxes forever? It feels, like, nomadic almost?”

“It’s,” Tom checked his watch and winced, “Almost two thirty in the morning. I bet the neighbors are just loving this.”

“Probably. Maybe we’ll get a really passive aggressive note tomorrow. Is there a homeowners association here?”

“God I hope not,” Tom took his hand, “We’re _sure_ to get in trouble. Come on. Apparently there’s kidnappers about. Would you pay the ransom? If I got kidnapped?”

“I mean I would have to. I’d start like a GoFundMe probably.”

“ _A GoFundMe?_ ” They began trudging up the stairs. Tom halfheartedly kicked a box on the landing out of the way, “What would you even put as the header for that?”

Greg shrugged, “Just like your picture I guess, and then like, ‘my idiot boyfriend got himself kidnapped and the longer I wait the more he’s probably going to get the ransom increased because he has anger issues. Please consider helping.’”

It was the first time he had ever said boyfriend out loud, and it had been said before he could think it through. That’s what, in the most technical sense of the word, Tom was, but he didn’t really like it. 

He waited for Tom to comment on the word, but nothing came. Maybe he didn’t mind it. 

“You’re such a moron,” Tom said instead, “And I love you. Sorry that I stormed out. I promise I’m trying to be better. Look, I’m not, uh, I’m not going to walk out on this. I’m not. You don’t deserve to have that happen to you.”

“It’s alright. It’s fine.” 

He pulled on Tom’s sleeve to stop him going up any farther and kissed him. His shoulders were damp from the mist outside, ever so slightly, and even though he’d only been out a few minutes, his skin was cold.

“We’re going to fall down the stairs,” Tom said, when Greg let him go, “Break our necks. Jesus, that’d be fucking stupid.”

“I think they’d call it a murder and then when they sell the house they’d have to sell it as a murder house. Did you see American Horror Story?”

“And now the mood’s definitely gone.”

“I’m just saying that legally I think you have to disclose that when you sell a house so it sucks for the real estate agent to have to share that,” Greg said, “It’s a nice house.”

They made it to the top of the stairs without falling and dying, so Greg’s point was moot anyway, and Tom pressed him against the doorway for a moment. He knew he was breathing heavy, and he was so incredibly aware of Tom’s closeness that it was almost overwhelming.

“Let’s not fuck this up,” he said. He put his hand on Greg’s waist, just inside his sweater-- not quite an invitation, but familiar nonetheless. His hand was cold on Greg’s bare skin, and he felt a slight shiver go down his spine, “Let’s try and make this work our fucking hardest. We just have to.”

“For Mondale’s sake?” Greg peeked into the room, knowing full well the dog would be asleep on their bed, and he chuckled when he discovered he was right. Mondale pretty much had a full run of the house, no matter what they did to discourage him. Greg had to agree. He was a good dog.

Tom laughed, “For Mondale’s sake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> appreciate you as always!


	33. paper rings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom's divorce is finalized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lotta real people emotions in this one

Time had passed differently since he and Tom had become, well, had become _this_.

He couldn’t really put it into words really. But when he thought about it he couldn’t believe that so much time had passed. That jobs had been quit, marriages had ended. It seemed like just a week ago or so they were in his apartment and Tom was asking if they were going to quit dicking around and hook up already. It was coming up on two fucking years. It seemed physically impossible. Had time suddenly stopped acting right? 

When exactly had all that become a fucking house and a dog and a life in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere?

Greg had been worried-- more than he wanted to admit to Tom-- that even in this place inhabited mostly by tourists in the summer and a small band of locals all year round, someone would know them. Tom would say something, someone would put it together. Didn’t I see you on TV a while back? Didn’t you work for Logan Roy? Weren’t you involved in that cover up? Guess you couldn’t really escape could you.

The closest call they had ever had was when a couple in the grocery store, a week or two after they were settled in enough to venture out said Tom looked familiar, but finally decided that he just looked like a man that had once dated their daughter, and had laughed at the strange coincidence before letting Tom go with a “God bless,” and definitely no realization as to where they might have _actually_ seen him.

They had then silently agreed then that this place was a good choice. 

He supposed that the more time that passed, the less likely it would be that someone would put two and two together.

(It seemed literally impossible that this could be the case, but Greg was beginning to learn that sometimes you did, in fact, get what you wished for.)

When the divorce was finalized, Tom brought home a bottle of wine, and they drank it on the porch, right out of the bottle, in mostly silence. He knew Tom was having probably a shit ton of emotions about the whole thing, and Greg didn’t want to make him talk about it if he didn’t want to. It was hard to get Tom to talk about things. Greg had to pry it out of him, and even then, his apparent default mood was angry. 

“Her mom kept asking people, at the wedding, how long they gave us,” he said. The wine was almost empty now, with about a quarter left. Greg had lost track of the time, and had the smallest buzz going-- it was apparently strong wine, whatever it was, but it was full dark now, and it had been light when they began, “At our _wedding_. Shiv was pissed. Maybe I should have fucking dealt with that somehow.”

“I remember her saying something in her toast,” Greg added probably unhelpfully. Mondale perked his head up for a moment, perhaps hearing a bird call somewhere in the woods, but decided there was no need, and went back to sleep. Greg felt the dog’s weight on his foot and smiled softly.

(Privately, Greg sometimes tried to guess who would fall asleep first, Tom or the dog. It was usually a tossup but it was an entertaining game nonetheless.)

“And I thought we’d prove her wrong. I don’t know.”

“You can’t see the future.”

“Thanks Captain Obvious,” Tom held his hand out for the bottle, “I should be happy I guess. I didn’t get that fucked over, in the grand scheme of things. Could have been worse. I’m surprised Roy exes are allowed out into the world and not confined to a room somewhere.”

“Maybe you and Rava can start a club.”

At first he thought Tom didn’t hear him, because he didn’t respond, but he heard Tom sigh. 

“Right,” he replied tersely. 

“I’m sorry,” Greg said, “If that, like, helps.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Maybe we should go camping,” Greg said. He’d discovered that if you changed the topic, sometimes Tom went along with it. He wanted to put Tom’s mind somewhere else, and maybe if he got to making fun of Greg for suggesting camping, it might work. He hated how upset Tom was, and wanted to help, “I’m sure there’s a campground around here.”

“ _Camping?_ Do I seem like an outdoor guy to you?”

It seemed to be working. 

“Might be fun. Do you know how many people go missing from national parks every year? It’s a lot. But we could stay away from those.”

“What is with the unsolved mysteries thing you have going on?”

“It’s just a fact,” Greg shrugged, “I used to go camping when I was a Boy Scout.”

“You were a Boy Scout?” Tom frowned at him, and then laughed, “You’re so Goddamn anxious about everything. How’d that even work?”

“My Grandpa signed me up. He thought it would be imperative,” Greg frowned, “No, _essential_ , that was it, that I learn those kinds of skills. I kind of sucked though. My mom felt bad for me but she wouldn’t let me quit. I remember one time, when I was like nine or ten, some of the older boys told us these fucking horrific ghost stories about the campground we were staying at and we all stayed up all night. The leaders were pissed the next morning, because we were supposed to go hiking but we were all falling asleep over breakfast.”

“It probably wasn’t even that scary,” Tom said.

“I had nightmares for two years about it,” Greg replied. 

“Is this that thing where you do some self deprecating so I have material to go on so I’ll make fun of you and stop thinking about how Shiv is now my ex wife and I’m pretty sure I’m going to lose my mind if I think about it for too long?”

“That depends on if it’s working.”

Tom cracked a smile, “A little bit. I’m sorry I’m bad company tonight. I just can’t believe it happened. I thought it was going to be forever. I wanted it to be.”

“I know,” Greg replied. He didn’t have anything better to say. He couldn’t be that helpful.

“I guess we could get married,” Tom said casually, shrugging as he did. Greg felt himself freeze, “But that seems pretty dometic of us. Kinda makes me want to puke from the domesticity of it a little bit. What the fuck.”

Greg didn’t reply because, no, that _hadn’t_ been a proposal, and so he wasn’t going to make an idiot out of himself by saying yes. But what the _fuck_ was going on right now? 

“You know I thought Shiv was going to say no. I was a dumbass, proposed when Logan was in the hospital, but I really thought she was going to say no. Maybe it would have been better. Maybe I’m just not cut out for marriage in general. You and I can just do this for the rest of our lives.”

“Yeah we could,” Greg said. He wasn’t hurt, per say, but he was pretty sure Tom could tell something was wrong from his tone, “But I would- I would like, marry you if you asked me to.”

“Jesus _Christ_ Greg,” Tom said, “You can’t just say shit like that.”

Greg shrugged, “I know but I’m trying to be better about talking about stuff.”

“This is disgustingly sweet. I feel like I need to take a shower to get it off of me. When the fuck did we turn into this? It makes me want to gag.”

“It’s kinda nice though.”

It was late summer now, and cool enough off the water to need light jackets this late. The wine kept him warm enough though, and the breeze kept most of the bugs away. It was a perfect night honestly. But Tom was right. When had they turned into this? They’d been executives, lived in fancy New York apartments, and spent money like it was free. 

“Can I ask you something?”

Tom nodded, “If you must.”

“Do you really like it here? I mean, it's different from New York and everything, and it’s like, so middle class and I don’t know. I guess I’m just worried you’re doing this for me or something instead of you and I don’t want that.” The words spilled out before he could stop them. It was easier to be open at night, he found, to talk about this. He quickly shut his mouth before he said anything else.

“Let me get this straight,” Tom said, turning slightly to look at him, “You think I gave up my high paying job, my marriage to a Roy, and my fully staffed apartment in Manhattan, just to come live in an old lake house, in a town of about two hundred people, in the middle of the Goddamn Blair Witch woods, _just for you_?”

Greg shugged, not sure if he was supposed to be hurt or not. It felt a little harsh, but there wasn't exactly malice behind his words, “Like. I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Well I did,” Tom said after a few very tense moments, and Greg knew he meant it, “And I would again. So shut the fuck up about it. If I have to admit to it again I think I’ll die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you!


	34. i know places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg thinks about the New House, their place there, and the Roys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second to last chapter! truly wild!

The new house-- Greg didn’t know when it would stop being The New House, and just the house-- was beginning to feel like a real home. 

It had taken several weeks to completely unpack, something his mother was incredibly disappointed about when she called and asked, but it was almost all done now, save for shit from the office they’d shoved in a box and never opened. It sat alone next to the steps to the garage, and at least once a week one of them banged into it when they got home and weren’t paying attention. Tom called it a burglar deterrent. Greg was pretty sure it was going to remain there until they absolutely have to move it. 

It was quiet out here too. Almost unnaturally so. 

He’d never lived this removed from people. It was like the summers he used to spend with his grandfather, but even then, there were other people in the house. His mother, sometimes his father. There were neighbors and at least an occasional car going by. When he was younger and less ornery, Ewan used to have even guests over sometimes as well. 

Here it was just them. Well, the two of them and Mondale, but Mondale was a very quiet sleeper, especially compared to Tom’s snoring.

Greg was sort of fond of Tom’s snoring. He supposed you got used to people’s habits, and whenever Tom didn’t come to bed until much later, the absence of them were noticeable. 

For the first two weeks or so, Greg thought it was just _too_ quiet. There were no sirens, no cars, no voices. Just the wind in the trees, the animals in the woods. One night it rained, but even the rain was different outside of the city. Louder, less interrupted. Not worse. Just different. 

He knew they were a little bit of a mystery to their new neighbors. They waved when they drove by, or occasionally popped over to offer extra fish they had caught or vegetables from their gardens, but Greg was pretty sure it was too early to qualify them as friends. They were just nice people who evidently wanted their new neighbors to feel welcome.

Several people owned permanent residences, but there were some who only came for the summer. Greg sort of hoped they could be friends with the others, but also hoped they never asked anything about what they’d done before they came here. A few have braved popping over, introducing themselves. Couples with children, who politely asked if they could play with Mondale. A few older couples seemed to think they were vaguely familiar, but no one had asked if they’d ever been asked to testify before Congress before. The neighbors who lived on the other side of the lake had brought over several pies and invited them out on their boat if they ever wanted to use it.

Soon enough there were going to be parties, and barbeques, and dinners, and Greg was pretty sure people were going to actually invite them places. Every party he’d been to in the past couple of years had been an ordeal. He wasn’t sure he remembered how to go to a normal person party without mind games and hard drugs and humiliation. 

People were just nicer here it seemed.

Maybe it was some horrible horror movie situation and he and Tom were going to be sacrificed to their Gods, but the pies _had_ been pretty good. And they’d wanted to be out of the spotlight, and it seemed to work. Greg was honestly not having much trouble being alright with being a sacrifice for all the pros there were of the New House.

(It had been funny, when Greg had stopped by the liquor store the other day, to find they had ATN on. He’d tried desperately to avoid looking at the TV, and been intensely relieved when the man behind the counter called it “horseshit news” and channeled while he paid. Tom had laughed like crazy when he retold the story, and made Greg recount it over dinner later so he could laugh again.)

It was, of course, absolutely impossible to escape it all. 

Waystar owned half the Goddamn world-- he knew he sounded like his grandfather when he talked like that, but it was true. He had gone to New York thinking he wanted one thing, but now he didn’t want that anymore. He wasn’t sure what exactly had changed his mind. Maybe it was a lot of things. And sure, most corporations probably weren’t like that, but if he never set foot in another office that would be fine.

(Maybe he’d just turn into his grandfather. Fuck off to the middle of nowhere and bitch about it anytime he got the chance.)

The house had a big sofa in the living room. Long and wide. It had come with the place, and despite how worn it was, neither of them had made any attempt to get rid of it, especially once they discovered that they both fit relatively comfortably on it. 

The TV was playing quietly in the background, and Tom was scrolling through Facebook with one hand, and combing his fingers through Greg’s hair with the other. Greg had mentioned it, off handedly, that he liked it, and now whenever they were still like this, Tom did it. He didn’t think Tom would remember when he said it, but evidently he had. The fact kind of made Greg want to cry.

“Did you hear back from Ewan?” Tom asked. Greg had almost fallen asleep in the warm air of the room, with the soft touch of Tom’s hand, and he blinked several times to wake up and answer, “Oh, were you asleep? Sorry.”

“Oh uh no, I’m up. But yes I heard. Like a couple of hours ago. I meant to tell you. He left a voicemail and said that he couldn't _wait_ to talk to Logan about this, but I don’t think he’ll actually do that, and uh, he said he’d never been prouder of me, forgave me for, quote, whoring myself for capitalism, and said we can come visit if we like but I think maybe he was just being nice. As nice as he can, like be? I don’t know. I didn’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t that. He was _almost_ excited.”

“Whoring for capitalism?”

“Yeah that’s what he called it.”

“That’s a good one. It sounds like a blog title.”

“Maybe that’s what you can do, start a blog.”

“I don’t think I’m going to resort to that just now. But good idea. I’ll add it to the list.”

There was enough in the bank for a while. Greg hadn’t technically been paying rent before, and Tom got some money in the settlement-- Greg thought that it seemed a little unfair, but he’d also never actually seen a prenup in real life before, so he kept that quiet. The house was paid for, so it was mostly living expenses for two people and a dog. They had a new game of listing increasingly odd and random jobs to each other in the hopes that one of them would stick. Greg was pretty sure something would, eventually. 

He knew he couldn’t get a job until he fully believed this new life. 

Every morning he expected to wake up in Manhattan alone. Not in the drafty bedroom upstairs, with the view of the lake, and the big skylight outside and Tom snoring next to him or making coffee downstairs, but the white bedroom with the high ceilings, with the sounds of the city outside, and the other side of the bed cold.

“Might be fun,” Tom said, “To go visit. You think he’d let me through the door or are my sins forgiven?”

“Mm,” Greg considered this, “More than likely. You’ve paid your dues. He’s decided you’ve come back over from the dark side. I, like, brought you back over I guess is his thoughts? I don’t know really.”

“Much like Darth Vader.”

“Exactly.”

“You think he could even _like_ me potentially?”

“I mean maybe. He didn’t like my dad very much, even from the beginning, Mom says. And you already have an invite in, so like, sounds like you’re doing better.”

It was strange, being able to discuss things like this with someone. He and his mother never talked about him. For the best, that was true, but still. Who else was there to talk to? 

“Fathers in law right?”

Greg chuckled, “Yeah. He was kind of right though.”

“Look I uh, I am sorry about that.”

“You don’t have to apologize about my dad.”

“I don’t think you deserved to have that happen to you is all. I can’t, I mean, I can’t imagine it.”

“I _thought,_ ” Greg began, surprised he was going to say it. He hadn’t even wanted to think about it back then, had banished it to some corner of his mind that never saw the light, “That Mom would flip when she found out you were basically doing what he did. I think it’s maybe because she didn’t tell my Grandpa. I don’t know. It’s a little fucked.”

“Yeah but it’s different. Us, I mean,” Tom said, and fell silent for a moment. Greg hoped he wasn’t planning for another line of questioning. He’d have to discuss it, fully, with him one day. Hopefully there would be plenty of time with Tom to do just that. Forever, even. It didn’t have to all come out right now.

“I can’t believe there’s _another_ Roy I have to impress,” Tom shook his head and Greg supposed he was using Greg’s ‘let’s change the subject and hope it helps’ strategy and Greg _was_ thankful for another topic so it evidently was a pretty good strategy, “At least I don’t think Ewan has ever played Boar on the Floor. He doesn’t seem the type really. I think he might just yell at you about your carbon footprint and frankly I would prefer that.”

“Please,” Greg grimaced. He supposed this was a marginally better topic, “I’m trying to forget. That still feels like some kind of, like, cult ritual. Like we were gonna have to have a mass suicide afterwards? I sort of thought I was going to die in a Hungarian hunting lodge? That’s not how I want to go.”

“Speaking of that-- dinners, not mass suicides-- that couple with the three kids down the street? You know the ones who like to play with Mondale? They invited us to a fucking _dinner _Gregory. One of the kids wrote on the little invitation in fucking colored pencil to please bring your dog. What the fuck is that? People inviting us places for regular reasons and not for some scheme? What the fuck.”__

__So it was beginning then._ _

__“Oh?” Greg stifled a yawn, “Did you, like, want to go?”_ _

__“I don’t see why not,” Tom frowned, “It could be a little dicey, avoiding certain topics, but I get the feeling this isn’t really a town that watches too much ATN. It’s possibly a little anti-Roy out here.”_ _

__“Are _we_ anti-Roy?”_ _

__Tom shook his head, “I don’t think so. We’re just… post-Roy.”_ _

__“ _Post_ -Roy?”_ _

__Tom made a face, “That was so pretentious sounding. I hated it.”_ _

__“A little bit yeah. Very educated. Make sure you say that a lot.”_ _

__“Alright you can fuck off if you’re going to be a dick.”_ _

__Greg laughed, but tightened his grip so Tom couldn’t push him to the floor, and they fell quiet again._ _

__“This was a good place,” Tom said softly, “These are good people.”_ _

__“Even if we get sacrificed to the Children of the Corn.”_ _

__“Greg, I mean this with love, but what the absolute _fuck_ is wrong with you?”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you! as always!


	35. the last great american dynasty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg go to a dinner party, discuss normalcy, and new beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 35! WOW!
> 
> [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2UgyxPfXzuCkeIi5Dcpyzw?si=VeVAYxQbQrSryFybwzmPNA) is a spotify playlist with all chapter title songs, in the order they appear.

For the most part, Greg had at least seen all of the other party guests before. The neighbors were all friendly, and seemed to enjoy each other’s company. Greg was pretty sure they would have to host at some point, if they wanted to be on the same playing field as the others. 

It was early evening now. Someone had quiet music playing, but most of the noise was the chatter of adults, and the shrieking of playing children. Mondale was enjoying the attention from several of the kids, who were scratching his belly and tossing around a couple of tennis balls for him to lazily chase, and at some point someone had offered Greg a beer and he was still holding it, undrunk. After the realization, he popped it open and took a very long sip. 

“So, how long have you two been together?” Henry-- he thought that was the man’s name-- asked. Tom had disappeared, but a glance found him on the other side of the yard speaking with several people. He met Greg’s eye and smiled, “If you don’t mind my asking?”

“Uh, well, almost two years now,” Greg said. It seemed like a Goddamn simple answer for an incredibly complicated story. And it still didn’t seem possible. Two fucking years. Where was he two years ago? He wasn’t even the same person then honestly. The Greg from two years ago was probably dead now.

“What made you decide to move here?” Henry’s wife asked. June, that was her name. He was pretty sure he had heard Henry call her Junebug a few times. He knew they were just making polite conversation, but he still worried there was some kind of ulterior motive to it. What a fucking time a therapist would have with that shit.

“We used to live in Manhattan. But there was, like, some trouble at work, and family and stuff. It was better to get away somewhere quiet.”

He hoped that trouble at work wasn’t secretly a code for “federal criminal investigation” and that family and stuff wasn’t code for “I was fucking my cousin’s husband and her dad is batshit crazy drunk on power” that he just didn’t know about.

“We moved for the same reason,” Henry slid an arm around her waist, “I worked in finance. I think we just wanted a break you know? The hustle is too much sometimes. What did you do?”

“Journalism,” Greg said, though that was pretty untrue. Even the Roys would admit to ATN being less than news, but bringing it up felt like a lot for a first time party. _Well_ , he could say, first we worked in cruises. Remember all that Brightstar shit? Yeah, that’s why we look vaguely familiar, you seem like the type that might have seen that on TV, probably real people news. But then we moved to ATN-- yes that ATN. We started hooking up. Oh I didn’t mention he was married? 

See, it sounded like a lot. He didn’t want the neighbors to think they were freaks this early. They didn’t seem like the kind that would press if he was vague, and they’d already been pretty private since moving.

“No family around here?” June asked. 

“No,” Greg said, maybe a little toow quickly, “My mom’s in Canada, and his parents are out west.”

“Sometimes it’s better to not be around family,” Henry looked thoughtful, “They can be tough.”

Greg hid a laugh in his beer, “Yeah, uh, that’s- that’s very true.”

_You have no fucking clue_ , he thought. 

“Well, we’re so glad you decided to come. Jimmy makes the best hamburgers,” Henry motioned with his own drink in the direction of the BBQ, where their hosts were gathered, “It’s a perfect welcome to the neighborhood eh?”

He politely clapped Greg on the shoulder.

“Right right,” Greg nodded, “Thanks. Uh, everybody’s been really nice.”

“The corporate world can be fuckin’ brutal,” Henry said, nodding seriously, and for the breifest moment Greg wanted to spill his guts to these strangers but he bit it back, “I’m surprised I didn’t have a breakdown honestly. June convinced me it was for the best, to move somewhere less cut throat.”

“Yeah, like, the only cut throat around here is when the grocery store runs out of something,” Greg said and they both laughed. He joined in nervously. It was hard to realize that these were normal people, with normal intentions. No mind games here. He wasn’t going to have to play boar if he said the wrong thing. 

Dinner was served, and he and Tom found some chairs set up and sat, balancing plates on their laps and jamming their bottles into the ground so they didn’t spill. 

“So this is a fucking normal people party huh?” Tom glanced around, “Makes me feel all warm and tingly inside. I think I’m turning into the fucking salt of the Earth. I keep thinking I’m going to get in trouble.”

“Oh it’s not just me imagining I hear Logan’s voice shouting at me?”

“No,” Tom shook his head, “It’s not just you. I’ll admit, this isn’t where I thought I would end up.”

“Dude, I wasn’t even supposed to be at Logan’s party that day. Did I tell you that? Mom told me to go as a last resort. What would be different if I hadn’t? We sort of fucked over the entire company together.”

“Well,” Tom considered it, “Yeah, I suppose that’s true in a way. Kendall did some fucking over as well though. I don’t know, maybe they were destined to be fucked over at some point. You think they might calm down if they came to a party like this?”

“I can’t really see, like, Roman here. Can you?”

“I can _see_ it, it just ends in something horrible,” Tom reasoned, “Actually if these people weren’t _unfairly_ nice it would be almost entertaining. How are we allowed to be around people this nice? We’re terrible. You think they know about it and they’re just bullshitting us?”

“Like, I hope not?”

“You think we should teach these nice people Logan’s favorite party game?” Tom smirked, “I feel like we’re not bringing anything to this town. Maybe it’ll become a craze.”

“Jesus Tom, what the fuck was that? Why did we just accept that for so long?”

“It was family,” Tom shrugged nonchalantly. 

“I think it was a self esteem issue,” Greg frowned.

“Don’t therapize at me Gregory. But I mean, he just dug at us. All of us. Like a fucking screwdriver to the face. Then a whole bottle of salt poured into the gaping wound. Was he getting off on it or?”

“Yeah maybe,” Greg said, and they fell quiet. The food was really good, Henry had been right, and occasionally people would pop over to reintroduce themselves. Mondale wandered over when the kids were called by their parents to eat, and Greg broke off a piece of hamburger and waited until Tom wasn’t paying attention to give it to him. He remained at Greg’s feet, probably hoping for another handout.

It was growing colder now, as night fell. There was a string of lights hanging from the tent they’d put up in case of rain. Someone had gone around lighting candles to help keep the bugs away, and somewhere towards the house someone laughed.

“But this is nice.”

“You know,” Tom frowned, “It would be a big lie to say that the past couple of years were easy. They were fucking brutal. And even though I don’t think I deserve all this, and even though you’re a fucking homewrecker, it’s nice.”

“I mean, like, I didn’t anticipate being a homewrecker. I didn’t _mean_ to wreck any homes. It wasn’t my intention.”

“Now that’s your new memoir title,” Tom said, leaning back in his chair, “I didn’t _mean_ to wreck any homes, the Gregory Hirsch story. You dickhead, you had fun doing it.”

“I mean, fun, I don’t know if fun is the right word.”

Tom laughed, “What are you going to do? Deny it? We’re fucking like, a _thing_ now. A _couple_. It had to be a little fun.”

“Well maybe a little,” he ran a hand through his hair, “Just an appropriate amount of fun.”

They ate the rest of their dinners, and returned to the larger group to throw out their plates. Mondale trotted after them, sniffing at people along the way. Greg picked up another beer, and desserts were placed on the big food table. 

“Greg dear,” one of the hosts, Lily, called. He remembered her name easily, since it’d been on the invitation, right above the kids request, “You’re the tallest one here, do you think you can help me get my cake down from the fridge? I’ve misplaced my step stool.”

“Oh sure,” he replied. He handed his drink off to Tom who reminded him not to fuck it up, and followed her inside. 

The kitchen was warm and dimly lit. There were photos of kids on the fridge, and what looked like a spelling test one of them had done well on. Dirty dishes smeared in barbeque sauce and ketchup were stacked in the sink, and the recycling bin in the corner was starting to overflow. It was so fucking homely, Greg wasn’t sure what to think.

“In the white cover,” she said, “If you don’t mind.”

“No problem,” he was careful not to knock anything off and handed the cake to her, “What kind of cake is it?”

“Chocolate. My husband’s favorite,” She smiled, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Huh? Oh yeah. Sorry. It was really nice of you guys to invite us.”

“Of course. The kids love your dog. Mondale right? An unusual name.”

Greg nodded. She was hoping he might elaborate but all he did was offer a smile. That opened too many doors, too many questions. Maybe one day, but not today. Not soon.

“We like to have neighborhood events. It’s really a very tight knit community, the locals around here. We hope you two will join in.”

“Yeah,” Greg nodded again, “Yeah, I think we’ll try.”

When they returned home, they were laden down with several plates of food, the phone numbers of their neighbors, and a bottle of homemade wine that they evidently just had to try. Greg put everything away while Tom took Mondale out for a final time. It was late now, and Greg was tired. But the good kind of tired, after you had a long, but satisfying day. 

“Well that was just too fucking much,” Tom said, when he returned, “Fucking normal people dinner parties huh? Look at us. Being all normal.”

“Yeah it was sorta nice.”

“Oh it was great,” Tom sighed, “I just don’t know how I’m going to get used to it.”

“We could host a really tense party where we get drunk and humiliate our guests maybe?” Greg suggested, “See who’s the best one to take the fall for something. Promise not to throw you to the wolves if you’ll do the same for me. Show them how we party?”

“Please,” Tom put up a hand to stop him, “Let’s keep that far from here. You ready for bed? I’m fucking tired.”

“Me too,” Greg nodded, “It kinda felt like today was, like, the beginning of something. Is that just me?”

Tom thought it over. Greg could see it in his face, the words processing or whatever. 

The only light in the kitchen came from above the stove. It was nearly silent, save for the ticking of the clock, and Greg felt like maybe they could fucking make this shit work somehow. Like this could be good for them. The past was one thing, and it was full of fucked up shit. They’d never really be able to forget about it. Hell, even if they changed their names and moved to Alaska, it would have still happened. They would get nervous if someone knew them, would try to escape Waystar as much as they could but really that was just impossible. 

The thing was, Greg thought-- he’d done more thinking the past two years than ever probably, he’d never faced something like this before and hoped that his life might settle down sooner rather than later-- was that it was alright. It wasn’t good to try and pretend things didn’t happen. It was important. All that fucked up shit had gotten them here, in his kitchen, a little tipsy from cheap beer, and chilly from the cold wind. You couldn’t see where your life was going, that was obvious. Greg wouldn’t have even thought this was possible anyway, and Tom sure as hell would have thought whoever was telling him his future was on crack. 

But the thing about the past, was that it was in the past. What he’d done, all that shit didn’t have to determine the future here. He and Tom could become whatever they wanted here. Maybe they’d get married. Maybe they wouldn’t. And hell, maybe it wouldn’t work-- although he hoped more than anything it would-- but it would be _their_ choice. There were no oppressive fathers in law, and confusing marriages, and criminal cover ups, and senate hearings, and people who would sell you out the second their own interest was in jeopardy. 

It was just two people who loved each other. In reality, that was all that mattered. It was. Money was good. Money was very nice and Greg liked money, and so were fancy jobs and high rise apartments and black tie dinners and Greg missed those sometimes, but then he thought about all that came with it and he didn’t miss it so much. He hoped Tom felt the same.

“Yeah,” Tom finally said, “Yeah I think I get it.”

“Maybe it’ll, I don’t know. Maybe I’m really starting to believe it’ll really be alright in the end. Like that the past is going to let us go?”

“You know? Maybe I’m starting to believe that too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's a wrap! i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it! i'd love to have another long fit in the works soonish, but thank you all for reading/commenting/enjoying this one! <3

**Author's Note:**

> if you know me in real life and you saw this no you didn't...and don't tell my tv scriptwriting professor please he doesn't need to know what he unleashed by showing our class this show.


End file.
